


The Problems of Ritual Magic

by nutmeg223



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Discipline, Domestic Discipline, Gen, Magic, Over the Knee, POV Severus Snape, Sane Tom Riddle, Severus Snape is a Brat, Spanking, Sub Severus Snape, Top Tom Riddle, Tops and Brats, Very very mild bdsm au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2020-04-06 08:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19058974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutmeg223/pseuds/nutmeg223
Summary: This is complete crack and written mostly because I found it entertaining.





	1. Chapter 1

Severus added several comments to a first year Ravenclaw's essay--supposedly twelve inches on the effects of ingredient preparation in potions--striking out the additional eight inches he hadn't asked for, and waved a hand negligently at the soft knock on his office door. Generally, no one came to his office hours but seventh years and they knew to enter when the door swung open. He looked up to see Granger hovering in his doorway.

"No," he waved his hand again, intent on slamming the door in her face.

Granger shoved her overfilled bag between the door and jamb before the door slammed. 

"You can take as many points as you like, Professor, but I'm not leaving until you listen to me."

"If this is about your last essay, Miss Granger--" he started, sighing.

"I don't care about that, sir." She barely avoided stomping into his office and sat heavily in the chair across from his desk, dumping her bag on the floor.

Severus stared. He'd never thought he'd ever hear that from the scholastically obsessed little witch.

"Headmaster Dumbledoor is ignoring my owls and Professor McGonagal is always  _ busy _ and I heard a couple of Slytherin first years saying that you would actually  _ do _ something and--"

She practically quivered with determination, hair roughly three times its usual size. He wondered if...no, remain on topic.

"Explain the issue at hand, Miss Granger,  _ concisely. _ " He rubbed his forehead, a headache definitely forming.

"There's a student in Gryffindor who only goes home at the end of the year and never receives anything, except for 50 pence at Christmas attached to a note telling them to stay for Easter hols, too, and to see if they can stay over the summer. Their clothing is in terrible shape and is at least three sizes too big, and their shoes are out at the soles. They came in very small for their age, oddly so, with some bruises...they didn't know anyone saw...and they came back this year even thinner. And they're not a picky eater, at all, sir. I'm worried, especially when they said their family would be happy if they could manage to die when they were badly injured." Granger stopped, swallowing hard.

One or two items from her list would be mildly concerning, but taken in aggregate…and  _ damn _ Dumbledore and Minerva for ignoring a student's concerns. Again. Mostly because it meant he had to be civil to the puffed up little twit.

"Who, Miss Granger?"

"It's Harry, sir." She lifted her chin and gave him a Look that wouldn't be out of place in a Pureblood family's drawing room. "And I know you don't like him, but I'm coming to you as a student with sincere concerns over another student's home life."

And how Miss Granger had learned those sorts of looks and mannerisms was a question for another day. Of course it was bloody Potter.

"Is there anything concrete, Miss Granger? Aside from your little observations?"

"The Weasley twins and Ron went to get him as he hadn't answered any letters and they were worried. There were bars on his window, five or six locks on the outside of his door, and a cat flap at the bottom. His school things were all locked in the cupboard under the stairs and...they had to break him out, sir. His uncle tried to drag him back through the window, yelling about how he wasn't going back to that freak school. And they'd locked up his owl, as well, not that she could have got through the bars."

"Was there, perchance, a flying car involved in this escapade?" He couldn't help the question.

"I'm sure I couldn't say one way or the other, sir."

The nerve of the chit. 

"Harry said his Aunt Petunia would be livid about her flower beds and he knew what he'd be doing next summer."

Severus left off rubbing his forehead and glared at her so suddenly she squeaked.

"Did you say his Aunt  _ Petunia? _ " Surely Dumbledore wouldn't have...he had more sense than that,  _ surely. _

"Yes, sir."

Did Lily have a great aunt Petunia somewhere? Flower names were a family mania. She had to...Dumbledore wouldn't have...he  _ couldn't _ have.

"He said his mother's sister, once, sir, if that helps in narrowing it down."

Was she  _ cheeking _ him?

"Thank you, Miss Granger. I will bring this to the Headmaster and take the appropriate next steps." He had to concede the need. 

"If an adult perspective would help, sir, Mrs. Weasley might have noticed something. The twins said he went from looking starved to half-starved while he was with them. He came back with practically an entire wardrobe of jumpers Mrs. Weasley knitted." 

Her mouth twisted and Severus nearly jumped from his seat. He would listen to her, but no one could force him to dry her tears. He went to the door and opened it, mostly for the distance.

"Thank you, Miss Granger. I will make some inquiries." There, a clear dismissal. She could go and weep elsewhere.

He had a momentary and unflattering thought that  _ he _ never got to wail over the injustices of his life. Like being compelled to speak to the Weasley matriarch, who  _ fussed _ over everything.

And who still hadn't forgiven him for the advice he'd given her twin terrors on stabilizing certain brews.

* * *

Breathing deeply, Severus opened the front door of his home, stepped into the dim entryway, and snapped it shut behind him. He slumped back against the door, reveling in the dim quiet of his home. Once, there were raised voices and fists and the creeping miasma of his mother's depression.

Now, despite the ever present industrial dust (he would have to check the wards...he  _ knew _ he'd warded against it), it served as his haven. He'd spent all afternoon fervently wanting the dim quiet of low lamplight and comfortably worn in chairs. There was one that fit him perfectly  _ and _ a new journal waiting. He had one more or less free weekend a month, and he intended to spend it as indulgently as possible.

And after his afternoon, he certainly deserved his small indulgences. Petunia's voice had, unfortunately, not grown less shrill with age. Nor had she mellowed, not in the slightest. Nor was she of a temperament to see that treating her nephew like a house elf was most inappropriate. 

"Oh, yes, Severus, you knew her as a child! I'm certain she will relish the reunion!"

Sometimes, Severus held that the constant miasma of sugared lemon hovering about Albus Dumbledore had rotted his brain.

Near needless to say, Petunia had  _ not _ relished their reunion. He pinched the bridge of his nose, pulling the headache reliever from an inner pocket of his robes by feel. He downed it, shuddered, and followed it up with a Calming Draught. It only delayed the inevitable, but putting off the shakes for a few hours...he'd never reacted well to thrown crockery. Or adults abusing their authority, no matter how much of a hypocrite it made him in regards to Gryffindors.

And he'd have to somehow convince bloody Dumbledore that the bloody Boy Who Lived to Annoy Snapes In Particular needed to be moved lest he perish due to neglect. No properly run household included a room with that many locks on the outside of a bedroom. Or a bedroom that looked like  _ that. _

"Sssssseverusssss." 

He nearly dropped the vial. That voice...he hadn't heard it since...no.

No.

_ Fuck no! _

There was no possible way the Dark Lord was in his sitting room. Potter had reduced him back to a wraith not six months ago. 

Ergo, the only reasonable conclusion was that he'd gone utterly and completely barking mad. Given his proximity to  _ Petunia _ that afternoon, it remained the strongest possibility.

"Ssssssseverusssss, sssstop lurking in your foyer and  _ do not  _ even think of running off, young man."

Severus froze with his hand on the doorknob.

_ What the actual bloody fucking hell? _

The Dark Lord did  _ not _ scold like a peeved Top. He Crucioed first and potentially asked a question once the writhing stopped. 

"Do not make me come get you."

Right. Severus mentally pulled his socks up and strode into his sitting room, face as implacable as he could manage. He folded his hands, allowing the long sleeves on his outer robe to hide their shaking.

And that was definitely the Dark Lord on his settee, snake-faced in all his bastardy glory.

Severus pulled himself up to his full height and stared down his nose.

"My Lord," he began.

"Oh, sssstuff it, Sssssseverusssss. I'm not entirely clear on what happened, but I went from being a perfectly happy Sssssslytherin houssssemassster to being ssssurrounded by a bunch of panicking Purebloodsssss, looking like thisssss, and hisssssing every sssssss."

Severus blinked for a moment, decoding the irritated sibilance. 

"Pardon?" he managed, finally, fingers twisting in his designation band. 

He didn't have a Top's plate to click, and his own had been replaced with a Hogwarts blank when he started working there. So the band, a bit ragged with age now, had to suffice.

"I think I may have had a heart attack."

That made things not a whit clearer.

"I wasss in my quartersss and felt a pain radiating from my arm. All went black, and next thing I wassss sssssurrounded by a bunch of Pureblooded idiotsssss in a panic. All sssscreaming 'It'ssss gone! Gone!'. I booked it ssssssoon assssss I could, and…apparated here. Had to come after you once, when you ran off..." he trailed off, raising his hands as he shrugged. "It wassss the one place I could think of and you generally keep your head in a crisssisss."

Severus took a moment to look at the inside of his left forearm. He coughed, wheezing at the unblemished skin where once a scarred Dark Mark lay. His knees buckled, and he locked them, reaching blindly for the back of the closest chair. He gripped it convulsively, carved wood groaning under his spasming fingers.

"Merlin, lad!"

And the figure that haunted his nightmares stood and crossed to him, prised his hand off the chair, and took him gently by the arms to lead him to the settee. 

"Breathe, lad, breathe." He soothed.

Severus dragged air into his shock-constricted lungs, the spots dancing before his eyes clearing as he finally got enough oxygen. His foggy brain simply wouldn't comprehend concern creasing the Dark Lord's reptilian features. He looked down at his clenched hands instead and tried to steady his breathing. 

Merlin, he was just so  _ tired. _ He rubbed a trembling hand over his face.

He massaged his aching temples; headache potions were no match for the sheer number of shocks he'd absorbed, from the truth of Potter's home life to a disturbingly affectionate Dark Lord waiting for him.

Or not the Dark Lord. He needed several hours in a dark, quiet room so he could gibber to his heart's content.

Because some stupid  _ sod _ had obviously meddled in magic beyond their ken, leaving him the clean up the mess.

Again.

He took a few moments to compose himself. No use in having hysterics. And he might as well go along with it, just to cover all possible angles. He thought, a bit mournfully, of peace and quiet and solitude, and wished, not for the first time, that he hadn't been such a colossally bigoted idiot of a teenager. 

"Have you any idea what happened to pull you here?" he asked, finally.

"A ritual, I believe." He pulled a bundle of parchment from the sleeve of his robe. "I, er, nicked the parchment on my way out."

Severus took the bundle and flicked through it, eyes widening in disbelief as he read. 

"They created a new  _ body _ for you?" 

The complexity of the ritual...they'd have had to spend hours working in concert...although the visualization portion of the ritual explained the appearance. 

"They created an abomination. I mossst sssssertainly do  _ not _ look like thissss." He sounded like a sulking third year.

"And it looks like an intense period of meditation on your part can correct your appearance." Severus handed the relevant section over. "And...oh, bloody  _ fuck! _ "

"Language!" 

Severus cringed at the immediate scold.

"I apologize for my intemperate language, my Lord." And how long had it been since...well, never, really, but the words still fell automatically from his lips. "It appears that the wraith's mind was so shattered that they went on to attempt a Gathering Ritual."

"And with a consciousnessss sssso shattered, Magic reached for the next available...version, for lack of a better term." Voldemort concluded.

"It seems the most likely interpretation for your sudden personality change." Severus rubbed a hand over his forehead again. "You're not the you who existed here. You're a you who had a completely different life."

"Sssstill know what done looksss like on you, lad, different life or no. Do you have a room I can ussse for meditation?"

"Yes, my Lord. Upstairs." Severus rose and crossed the small sitting room to one of the bookcases lining the walls. 

He found the carved runes and pressed on them in the correct pattern. A section of shelving swung open, revealing a narrow staircase. He rarely allowed anyone beyond the sitting room, but instinct screamed trust at him, an unfamiliar sensation.

"I'd recommend ssssleep, Sssssseverusssss. Your headache never resssolvesss until you give in and ressst."

Severus jerked to a stop halfway up the stairs, unused to anyone knowing him so intimately. He swallowed on a sharp retort, curiosity burning in his veins.

"Of course, my Lord."

He practically felt the eyes rolled at his back, but led the Dark Lord upstairs. He'd converted his childhood bedroom into a study, but it held a daybed and nothing terribly personal. He gestured, opening the door.

"Will this suffice?"

"Thank you, Ssssseverusss. The room will work well."

"The w.c. is the next door. I'm at the end of the hall." He hovered uncertainly, hating himself for a moment. Why wait to be dismissed in his own home?

"Thank you. Pleassse go ssssleep, lad. You look done in. Lock me in here if it helpsss." 

Severus blinked for a moment. "I don't believe I need to, my Lord. I shall take my leave."

He wasn't retreating, he told himself as he shut the door to his bedchamber. He simply needed rest. It wasn't that the unusual concern for his well being had him flustered.

But perhaps he should ask  _ one _ of his questions?

* * *

 

As Severus settled under his eiderdown fifteen minutes later, he mourned the loss of his quiet weekend. He had so wanted two days of reading while toasting his feet on the fender of his stove. He wanted to sup on a full English at midnight, stirring beans on the hob in his shirtsleeves, and in general behave like an unsociable gremlin. But, as with most of what he'd wanted, it went to hell in a handcart.

He drifted into sleep, the last words from the Dark Lord echoing in his brain.

"Who was I to you, my Lord, that you would come here for shelter?"

"You were mine, Sssssseverussss. You were mine."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one includes several paragraphs of medieval-ly inspired clothing porn. :-)

Severus woke to murky darkness and a blessedly pain-free head. He debated burrowing back into the delicious warmth of his duvet and sleeping through the night, but a grumbling stomach and overwhelming curiosity nagged enough to keep sleep at bay. That and the ever-growing list of things he'd need do. 

To whit: keep Albus Dumbledore out of the loop until he'd figured out a way forward.

Because he hadn't _quite_ gone to him as he'd told Granger. He had, unfortunately, gone just a titch rogue. And if there was one thing Dumbledore loathed, it was rogue Slytherins. Given the man's reaction to the Potter whelp's headfirst dive into magical heroics, he'd done an end-run around him. He was a Hogwarts staff member with distinct concerns over the safety at home of a Muggle-raised child. The child's friend had reported her suspicions, supporting his case. Ergo, he had all the authority needed to investigate before bringing in a higher authority.

Especially as the higher authority in this case was likely to skin him alive. 

Now he only (Only! Ha!) needed to figure out how to circumvent Potter's placement without delivering him into the hands of, for example, the Notts, _and_ deal with a newly returned, hopefully-not-as-dark lord. 

The duvet had never looked more inviting.

To be fair, death by _smothering_ had never looked more inviting.

Unfortunately, part of himself looked at the whole thing as a grand and exciting experiment, like a half-baked potioneering attempt about to explode. Right now he had about six madly-bubbling cauldrons to balance and roughly one weekend to set as many plans as possible into motion. The mad scientist he usually managed to suppress, the one who liked to poke at obvious danger, fairly cackled with glee.

He shoved that maniac back into the box where it was safest for all if he lived and rose, crossing to his clothes press. Opening the doors, Severus let his fingers caress the clothing within as he decided. He dressed carefully, not in his usual Mastery robes, but in the trailing robes he kept for weekends and summers away from students. It felt...right, somehow, meeting the hopefully less Dark Lord dressed as he planned -- thoroughly traditionally, based on Type and age of Family.

The underclothes came first, looking much like a Muggle man's swimming costume from the early 1900s. Soft silk knit combinations hugged his torso as he did up the buttons, the full-length legs taking most of the chilly Autumn damp away. They were the one constant in his wardrobe, especially after his fifth year. He ran fingers under the shoulder straps, evening out a bit of twisting, and checked behind to make sure the drop seat remained fastened at the small of his back, before he reached for thick socks. Slytherin green, sinfully soft, and imbued with the most wonderful warming charms, they were a gift from Mrs. Weasley the first year he'd taught her twins. 

He pulled a sleeveless silk and wool blend under-kirtle on over his combinations, the full, heavy skirt dropping to the floor when he released it. He ran his hands down his front, smoothing the finely woven fabric, and did up the catch that held the high winged collar up. It would sit much like an old-fashioned stock collar under the high collar of the kirtle. 

He couldn't help the small smile that graced his lips at the softness of it next to his skin. It was only his skill with potions  that kept him from regularly coming up in a rash from the coarser materials of his teaching garb. He shook himself out of his woolgathering and lifted a soft green kirtle off the shelf next.

He pulled it on over his head, bouncing in place to let the tightly fitted heavy fabric work itself down his chest. He batted the long, full skirt off his head and gave a jump to situate the kirtle skirts over the under-kirtle. High collared, with sleeves tight to the wrist and skirts just as long as the under-kirtle, but of a much finer cloth. Silk and wool again for warmth, but in a satin weave with a soft lustre. 

He closed the lines of buttons with the ease of long practice at both throat and wrist, arranging the under-kirtle's collar to sit comfortably, with only a moment to wish for a Dominant's breeches and under-tunic. The rights to those would have made his life so much easier. The long skirts swished around his legs, and he found himself relaxing further, despite having a veritable stranger in his home. The weight of the fabric grounded him, warm and soft...and itch-free. Dressing like this felt like coming home.

A finely woven woolen tunic in pale gray came last, fitted through the body along the same line as the kirtle, the wide skirt falling in graceful folds, the embroidered hem at calf length. The wide sleeves showed off the many-buttoned sleeves of the kirtle. He girdled his hips with a narrow, pale green silk sash, arranging it to lay flat, ends trailing down at his left hip. The wide collar, cuffs, and hem, embroidered with twining ivy, matched the kirtle and sash exactly. He ran a brush through his hair and bound the length of it back with a pale green tie...the one Narcissa had included to match the ensemble.

Technically, he could walk through Diagon Alley without causing any breach in propriety, far less, really, than he generally did walking through garbed as a Master of Potions and Defense. In actuality, there were some things he wished to keep only for himself and a select few, and looking like the pampered Sub of an Old Family numbered first on the list. He slipped his feet into house slippers and trailed out of his room, hurrying once he got to the stairs and smelled bacon.

Severus stopped in the kitchen doorway and goggled. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood at his stove, poking at a frying pan with a dish towel slung over one shoulder. The few dishes Severus had used that morning stood drying in the draining board, and overall the kitchen felt lighter and cleaner than it had in, well, decades. 

"There you are, Severus." He turned, smiled, and Severus gripped the doorway.

The formerly reptilian features were gone. Severus found himself faced with a tall, powerfully built man in what looked to be his early forties. He recognized the haircut as a short back and sides, and a lock of wavy, deep chestnut hair fell over his forehead. And he'd apparently raided the charity boxes Severus never quite gave away. One of Tobias' old shirts stretched over his chest and shoulders, straining the buttons, the trousers short in the ankle.

"I wasn't certain of your warding, and didn't wish to alert the Ministry if yours were patchy." He gestured at his clothing.

The warm, deep voice didn't help matters any, nor the aura of power that fairly crackled around him. Severus collected himself, shaking his head a bit. If their Voldemort had looked and sounded like _that,_ there wouldn't have been a war.

"I'm fully warded," was all he trusted himself to say.

"I've been horrendously forward and made us dinner." Not-Voldemort continued, turning back to the stove. "You had the makings for a full English, and I made tea. I hope...I do hope I haven't trespassed…?"

"No, my Lord. A meal and tea would be most welcome." Severus moved to the hutch, intent on setting the table.

"You can call me Tom, Severus, since I'm being horrendously ill-mannered and taking liberties." He flashed a quick grin over his shoulder.

Severus nearly dropped the plates. "I do not object to you using my given name. Sir," he concluded. His brain categorically refused to process calling the man Tom, not when long-buried instincts flared in his presence.

"I suppose 'sir' is about as casual as I'll get from you." Riddle sighed. "How do you like your eggs?"

"Soft-cooked, sir, or poached," Severus answered quietly, laying flatware beside the plates. "Soft-cooked aren't traditional, but…"

"We could all use a bit of comfort food this evening." Riddle agreed, starting the flame under a small pot. "Would...would it help if I gave you a precis of my life so far?"

"That would be helpful, sir. Perhaps we should compare timelines and come up with a plan for your sudden appearance, as well." Severus' hands shook minutely just thinking about all the bother he'd been landed in.

"I would welcome any assistance you feel comfortable giving me. I rather landed you in it, didn't I?" Riddle rifled through the breadbox. "Toast alright, instead of fried bread?"

"Yes, thank you." Severus' mind whirred as he ferried delicate teacups to the table. He could have used the sturdy mugs he'd bought for use in his lab, but he couldn't resist the lovely bone china.

"Was your Tom Riddle Lord Voldemort?"

Severus almost dropped a teacup. "Balls!" he hissed.

"Severus?" Riddle prompted.

"I have been informed that the wizard calling himself the Dark Lord was Tom Riddle at school." And if Dumbledore ever found out he'd gone to give Walburga Black his condolences on the loss of Regulus, he'd be trebly skinned alive. She'd appreciated the tea and had perhaps been a touch more loose-lipped than usual.

"That's probably one of the biggest points of diversion. We had a dark lord calling himself Voldemort, but we...at school, Voldemort was a fantasy we used to keep the lower school in line. We'd played a game, trying to find the scariest 'Dark Lord' name from the letters of our names. Mine, Lord Voldemort, was judged the best. He'd get you if you didn't tidy away your socks or whatever. In the 1970s, though, a dark lord came on the scene as Lord Voldemort. He called his followers Death Eaters. I was traveling in India at the time, so I don't have as much context."

"The Dark Lord rose in the 1970s for us, as well, but it _was_ Tom Riddle. Most of the Slytherins, including me, wound up marked as his followers. Given your appearance, and the complete disappearance of the Dark Mark, I think he is finally gone."

"The name is…names!" Riddle froze for a moment, quickly deposited eggs into egg cups, and strode out of the room.

Severus, despite curiosity burning in his veins, composed himself and poured tea for them both. He checked and plated their food, rescued the toast from the grill and buttered it, and ferried plates to the table, egg cups bobbing behind him. He arranged plates and egg cups neatly, straightening silver and brushing lint from napkins. He finally sat, arranging his skirts comfortably, and sipped his tea. He could absolutely wait.

Riddle strode back into the room, fairly crackling with power and brandishing the sheaf of purloined parchment.

"It's the names, Severus! The names!"

"Sir?" Severus quirked an eyebrow at him.

"It was older wizards doing the ritual, that much I remember. But if you look at the arithmancy done for the ritual, they used Tom Riddle. The wraith they forced into the shape of Tom Riddle wasn't him. Or didn't identify as him any longer. The wraith was the remains of Voldemort. When it shattered and they attempted to Gather it back, they called for Tom Riddle and Magic gave them me." He smacked the parchment, looking triumphant.

Severus blinked for a moment. "I feel as if I should have something to say."

"There's no going back for me, obviously, but at least I know _why._ Now, why don't we eat, and you can tell me a bit about yourself. Still the youngest Potions Master?" Riddle sat, wincing a bit at the pull of too-tight trousers, and unfurled his napkin into his lap.

Severus stared for a moment before the manners drilled into him by Narcissa bounced back. "Er, yes. I completed my Mastery at twenty."

He probably ought to have resized the clothing for Riddle, but Severus decided that if he wanted his trousers fixed then he could do it himself. And if he took a bit of vicious pleasure in the constriction, then it was all Riddle deserved for upending his bloody life even further than Potter's spawn had managed thus far.

"And, er, you, sir? What did you study?" he enquired politely.

"My primary was in Defense, but I did secondary study in Runes and Arithmancy. And, er, History." He flushed a bit at the last. "I was a bit of a swot, and Uncle Martin and Auntie Ro encouraged it."

Severus sighed, but internally. Trust his luck to have found a previous generation's answer to Hermione Granger. "An Aunt and Uncle?"

"The Sinclairs. They were a tertiary or quaternary branch of the Gaunts. Uncle Martin only found me because I quite literally ran into him in Diagon Alley. I was working as a runner for one of the law firms. Uncle Martin had a whole litter of kittens when...well, we'll just say that he had words with the staff of Hogwarts." Riddle chuckled at the memory. "Which reminds me, would you be willing to accompany me to Gringotts tomorrow? I'm going to need to exist in this universe, and the goblins are least likely to fuss."

"I have an appointment with the Weasley parents in the morning, but will be able to accompany you in the afternoon, sir." Severus neatly sliced his toast into soldiers and took the top off his egg.

"That'll be brilliant. Thank you." 

Severus felt his cheeks heat at the delight fairly emanating from Riddle. Tops generally didn't find him delightful in the least. Usually, no one found him delightful.

"Anything wrong with the Weasley children?"

"Another student, a friend of the family," Severus hedged. "Stayed with them briefly over the summer. What will you tell the goblins?"

"Oh, they'll get the full truth. I'm hoping they'll be able to help me set myself up as my own son, or something of the sort. I, um, took a few years off settling into this body." Riddle looked a bit sheepish. "I'm hoping there'll be a vault I can access as I'll need a new wand and wardrobe."

"If you'd prefer it, I can assist with a stop in Diagon Alley before the bank." He offered it impulsively. "The goblins might not care what wizards wear, but it helps to be comfortable."

"Thank you, Severus. I fear I've turned your weekend away on its head, and it's only Friday evening. I'm sorry."

"Thank you," Severus murmured, applying himself to his meal to hide his flushed cheeks. He couldn't remember the last time someone had actually apologized to him.

"And on the subject of Gringotts, I'm going to ask an impertinent question again. Do you have a Dom's disc?" 

Severus bit his lip at the question. Trust that one to come roaring up.

"No, sir." He answered, voice quiet. "No one trusts a spy, and the Headmaster prefers all Professors to appear Neutral."

"When was the last time you were in the bank, Severus?" 

"Shortly after I received my Mastery. Lucius Malfoy chaperoned." Because the thrice-damned goblins wouldn't allow an unchaperoned Sub into the bank. "He didn't exactly appreciate that I'd been a spy for Dumbledore."

"And there was no one else?"

"The only quarter left for me...after...was Hogwarts. And the Headmaster doesn't precisely approve of Typing." Severus willed himself not to flush miserably. Their meal, although delicious, sat in his stomach like a rock.

"Albus Dumbledore has never liked others having things he couldn't. Would you wear my disc tomorrow, Severus?" He produced one apparently out of thin air, sliding it across the table. "I transfigured it earlier, but it should do."

"I will, sir. Thank you." Severus clicked the Hogwarts crested placeholder out of his band and picked up Riddle's disc. He paused. "Sir, would you?"

"Thank you, Severus." Riddle rose and rounded the table. He took his disc from Severus's finger and knelt, a bit awkwardly with the ill-fitting trousers. He took Severus's hand in his larger one and paused. "Severus Snape, will you wear my disc tomorrow, putting yourself under my protection and my rule? I'm a strict, old-fashioned man, but I will do my best not to be an overbearing arse."

Severus swallowed. As a younger man, he'd allowed himself a few dreams of a Top who would stand between him and the world. Who would look at him as something precious. Maybe it was only for a day, but he couldn't help the tiny flare of hope in his heart, that perhaps he wasn't too far gone for any Top to want.

"I will, sir. I'll do my best to…" he faltered. "To mind you, and to behave appropriately." Oh, it was a blow to his independent ego to make that promise, but the words were a salve to wounds he barely admitted to.

"I'd expect nothing less from you, Severus. Thank you." Riddle clicked the disc into the housing, frowning at the state of the band. "We'll see about a new band for you, as well. This looks like the Ministry one sent with your letter."

"It is." Severus stared at the floor. "There never seemed a point…"

"Well, there is a point. You honor your Type and Class by showing the world that you care for yourself. We'll rectify this travesty tomorrow and find you something resistant to Potions accidents." He poked at a hole in the strap where a stray drop of something acidic had eaten through.

"Yes, sir." Severus acquiesced, squirming a bit at the stern tone. 

"Good lad." Riddle praised, easing up off his knees. He squeezed Severus' hand before going back to his seat.

Severus swallowed down on complicated feelings, and went to fetch the teapot from the counter. He poured more for both of them and set it on the table, sinking back into his chair. 

"I...would you…" Severus stopped, frustrated. "Would you prefer I dress more like this tomorrow?" He'd never gone to Diagon Alley dressed traditionally, but something in the weight of the disc on his wrist made him want to try.

"I would prefer that you are comfortable tomorrow. If you would like to dress traditionally, then that would be acceptable. It might do to remind everyone just how old your family is, lad." Riddle smiled warmly at him from across the table.

It was only for a day, Severus reminded himself as he smiled hesitantly back. Just a day. But perhaps, just perhaps, someone would wish to keep him, even if it wasn't Tom Riddle.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clothing notes: in the wizarding society I'm making up as I go along, families are entitled to adopt certain types of clothing based on when their family popped up in the wizarding world. The Princes are one of the older families, so Severus is entitled to medieval-esque clothing. When dressing traditionally, the Princes, Blacks, Potters, etc. will be wearing the old-school stuff.
> 
> So, I know the kirtle was worn by women, but the wizarding world doesn't give one tiny crap about gender under my rules. :-) Subs of both genders wear kirtles. The under-kirtle is total fabrication. Technically, it should have been a smock or under-tunic, but I like my idea better. Male Subs tend to wear the stock-like collared version more frequently, but female Subs will sometimes, as well. The fitted, full-skirted tunic is also something of a fabrication, but it's very graceful in my imagination.
> 
> Also, I will answer everyone's comments and questions. I've been a bit under the weather lately and my brain went off on holiday for about the past 2 months. I am working on Reowrking the Lines, but everyone is being a bit stubborn.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Molly kneaded her bread dough and considered her options. She had just enough time to knock up another batch of the ginger newts. Professor Snape had actually eaten them last time and had complimented her. He really was too thin, and despite his impeccable clothing, looked like there was no one at home who loved him. Just an air he gave off, really. At least to a mum. 
> 
> And he wasn't that much older than her Bill. Just a handful of years. She couldn't imagine Bill spying at, what had he been? Nineteen or twenty at most. And no one to care for him, poor la...no, even she couldn't quite manage to call Severus Snape a poor lamb.
> 
> That settled it. He'd go home with a tin of biscuits made just for him.

His hands shook as he did up the long line of buttons on his coat. The superfine wool lay smoothly over his chest, not a line or wrinkle to mar the expanse of black. Buttons done, he slipped a couple of fingers into the high collar and pinched, pulling the collar of his fine linen shirt to peek over the black, softening the unrelieved black. For teaching, he wore much sturdier fabrics, but for meetings with parents, he clung to the armor of impeccable tailoring and expensive cloth.

He'd learned his lessons well.

Each button, each layer, steadied his hands and steeled his spine. His Mastery garb went on like armor, his outward demand for respect. His boots gleamed under the perfectly correct break of his trousers, setting off the drape of the fine wool. He twitched his shirt collar into slightly better position and reached for his robes. The heavy drape of them finished the job--Severus Snape, Potions and Defense Master, replaced Severus Snape, complete bag of bad-tempered nerves.

He took a few deep breaths and reinforced his Occlumency shields. Not that he expected an attack, but the deep foundation of his mind palace steadied him to deal with the outside world. And it wasn't like deep breathing had ever hurt anyone, in any case. He tucked his pocket watch into his watch pocket, and a handkerchief into a cleverly concealed pocket at his waistline. 

He headed for the door, stopped, and crossed back to his dressing table. He slid open a drawer and extracted three extra handkerchiefs. He buttoned those into one of the hidden pockets in his wide robe sleeves and turned on his heel. 

One never knew, after all, with Weasleys.

* * *

Severus stepped out of the Floo into the Burrow's kitchen. He clamped down on the eye twitch that always threatened when faced with so much cheerful and chintz-ridden domesticity, and bowed gracefully to his host...ess.

"Good morning, madam."

"Oh, good morning, Professor! Have a seat and I'll bring some tea over to the table. Have you had breakfast?" Mrs. Weasleu bustled at him. 

"I have, thank you." He sat with as much gravitas as one could muster with one's rear planted on a cushion embroidered with happy, dancing breadrolls.

Severus stomped on the urge to turn tail and escape straight back into the Floo. Green faded from the flames and the fire crackled, adding to the coziness of the kitchen. Sunlight, weak and late-autumnish as it was, streamed through the sparkling windows, highlighting the tumble of potted herbs on the windowsill and freshly whitewashed walls. The worn but well-scrubbed counters held the detritus of a morning's baking session, and Mrs. Weasley's knitting needles clicked briskly, hovering over a rocker in the corner and nearly in time with the clock, as they turned out a finely-knit knee sock. A crochet hook knocked up cobweb lace at the other end of the table.

Not for the first time, Severus marveled internally at the casual display of magical power and control Molly Weasley exhibited. He wondered, briefly, what would happen if one managed to get her working in concert with Narcissa Malfoy and Augusta Longbottom. Total world domination, most likely.

"Well, tea then. And maybe a biscuit? Arthur's had to go in today, something about a rash of nibbling sugar tongs? He asked me to give his apologies for his absence." 

She cut into his musing, looking so crestfallen that she couldn't stuff him up to the back molars with breakfast that he agreed to tea and biscuits.

"Now." She set a sturdy mug before him and a plate of ginger newts between them before she sat with her own cup of tea. "I know it's not the twins, or you'd have stormed through the Floo immediately."

She seemed to be poorly concealing her amusement.

"That, madam, was a one-time event precipitated by your twin menaces." In hindsight, it was a bit amusing.

"Yes, well, it's a wonder I ever got Ginny out from behind the settle, you storming out of the fire with a face like thunder. It's likely not Ron or Ginny, either, because Percy would have written, and it's never Percy, so who's been in trouble?"

He briefly considered concocting a tale of Percy in trouble, but discarded that idea immediately. He had a job to do, and he would discharge his duty to the best of his ability.

"It's not one of yours, Mrs. Weasley. You hosted Mr. Potter briefly over the summer, I believe?"

"Did Headmaster Dumbledore send you, finally?" She sat back, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "I've written so many letters, Professor, and I'm about ready to send a Howler."

"You wrote the Headmaster?" Severus asked, voice hollow. Did he know and not care? Did he send another child back into hell?

"Yes, about Harry, and the state he arrived in." Mrs. Weasley sighed and wrapped her hands around her mug. "I'm going to guess that he didn't say anything to you?"

"Another student brought concerns to me. I've spoken to his family, but I'd like an outside perspective, as well." Molly Weasley wielded motherhood like a claymore, he mused. Perhaps she would be an ally.

"He...his clothing was little better than rags, and he was so thin, much too thin. And small! He looked like he'd barely eaten since the Leaving Feast, and I doubt he'd fit clothes Ron grew out of years ago. Fred told me that they'd been feeding him a tin of soup a day, and he was sharing with his owl. Harry would only say that his family didn't care for magic."

"He didn't complain to you at all?" He would  _ never _ admit to not minding conferences with Molly Weasley, even under threat of never receiving another of her ginger newts. 

"Never breathed a word of it. And he was so sweet, too, up early to see if he could help with breakfast. He said he was used to doing the cooking, and then tried to cover that up by saying he was used to  _ helping _ with the cooking. He was very keen to help, but not in a...not in the way happy children will. Do you know what I mean?"

Unfortunately, yes, he knew. Severus repressed the urge to sigh.

"I do. Is there anything else? Any other impression of him?"

"He was extremely skittish with Arthur, less so with me. And he soaked up attention, but not in a bad way. I taught him a few little household spells since he was so keen to help, and he paid close attention and did very well with them. He didn't seem used to an adult telling him he'd done well. He worked right alongside my boys without any complaints, and, well, the planting beds have never looked so tidy. He's no idea what to do with his arms when he's hugged, though. And he seemed worried that one of mine would be annoyed I was paying him attention." She worried with the rim of her mug. 

"I see." Severus took a long sip of his tea, thinking. One or two of those observations alone would point to, perhaps, some anxiety, but taken together, with Granger's worries and having met with Petunia, the slowly growing picture of Harry Potter's home life was a grim one.

"And…" she stopped, looked down at the table. "There were bruises. Around one of his wrists and an ankle. His shirt collar slipped one day, and he had bruises on his shoulder, too. I didn't ask, didn't want him to feel like he needed to lie, but I left bruise balm and instructions for him."

Her voice trailed off, twisting a bit, and Severus fingered the button on his emergency handkerchief pocket. But, in true Molly Weasley fashion, she pulled herself together. That, he reflected, was the benefit of Prewett blood. Solid, practical people, the Prewetts. 

"I'm sorry for being so soppy." She sighed. "It's just that he's very like Lily. Looks like a miniature James, but the personality is very much Lily. If anyone is asking, we'd love to have him as much as he'd like."

"I'll make certain it's known, if it comes to that."

"And...I don't wish to overstep, but ask the other Professors about his schoolwork? He got everything I showed him right off, but if Ron was about he...he almost gauged his own work against Ron's. They did their summer work together, as well, and Harry's essays could be better. Ron's a good boy, but he's a bit lazy about school, and it seemed like Harry didn't want to challenge him."

"I hadn't realized," Severus trailed off, thinking. "His aunt suggested the boy was just dim, but underperforming makes more sense. Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, for meeting with me." Severus brushed ginger newt crumbs off his fingers onto his plate, set his napkin neatly on the table, and made to rise.

He stared for a moment at the frolicking daisies embroidered in the napkin's corner. Dear Merlin. 

"You might as well start calling me Molly, as I said last time you were here." Molly smiled at him. "You're through the Floo so often for Fred and George it might as well be one of those revolving doors Arthur goes on about."

"Then thank you...Molly." He managed to unbend enough for her given name, despite an internal Narcissa shrieking about manners. "If you wish, you may call me Severus."

He'd ignored her request last time, but it looked like he wouldn't be able to keep his distance. That was the problem with the Molly Weasleys of the world. They drew one in with warmth and kindness and exceptional baked goods and suddenly one found oneself enjoying linens embroidered with skipping forks and knives. And being hugged.

Thankfully, she didn't even try to hug him. Instead, she pressed a large tin into his hands. 

"I made a batch of the ginger newts just for you, since they seemed to be your favorites last time. You're a bit too thin, too."

The assessing look she gave him quelled any snarled or snapped reply. He cleared his throat instead.

"Thank you, again, for you hospitality and your assistance." 

And, wrapping his somewhat tattered dignity about himself, he escaped via the Floo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is wondering why Severus winds up on the 'your children are menaces' tour most often, it's all McGonagal's fault. She's made it well known that if you're the teacher who finds the Weasley twins doing something they shouldn't, then you can go and talk to their parents.
> 
> Unfortunately, this leaves Severus and Pomona Sprout as the most frequent visitors. It's much easier to explain exactly what her children have been up to in person.
> 
> We are completely not touching the fact that Severus might be addicted to her ginger newts and Pomona may have a particular love for her lemon fancies.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Narcissa Malfoy receives a warning and Severus receives several shocks.

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

Narcissa stared down at the unfolded letter before her. Such an innocent thing - just parchment and ink - but she barely dared touch it. Narcissa rather wondered which _friend_ had found out, for it was signed that way... _F_ _rom, A Friend._ She tapped a finger on the polished cherry wood top of her escritoire and made a decision. Standing, she picked it up and folded it, slipping it into the generous pocket of her skirt.

And wasn't it true that any skirt wishing to be called well-made must include large pockets? She smoothed down the fine pale silver wool and straightened the matching waistcoat. 

Glancing down at the delicate watch suspended from the Malfoy crest pinned to the breast pocket of her waistcoat, she strode from the morning room. This matter required not the soft and gentle surroundings of pale gray watered silk walls and pale blue velvet furnishings, but the definite and purposeful Study. And it earned that capitalization, even in her own mind. It was her demesne, even through that cursed decade of illness. She reached the tall, paneled doors, boot heels clicking on marble tiles, and pressed her palm flat against the brass door guard. 

The family magic surged to her, and the door clicked open. She let out the breath she would never admit to holding. What if...well, given the contents of the letter, she had worried the Malfoy Magics would reject her claim.

She had failed in her duty, brought low by duplicity. As weak as the aspidistra now laying limp in its pot on her windowsill. Well, she would rise to the occasion. It was all she could do.

Narcissa entered the Study, bolstered by the hush of the space. To her, it gave welcome respite. She crossed, skirt swishing over the expensive carpet as she walked straight for the Malfoy Desk. Each Family Head had used the Desk, back to before recorded Malfoy history began, presiding over family meetings and working out accounts and plans. Only the inlay on the current Desk's top remained of the original, but it imbued the whole piece with the solid steadiness of generations. She trailed her fingers over the dark wood and felt the soft thrum of centuries of accumulated magic. Grounded by the welcome, she turned to the wall behind the Desk.

A wall safe shimmered into existence, popping open when she pressed her palm against the door. The Malfoy wand and signet lay inside, the symbols of the office she'd deserted in her weakness. That she could still reach in and remove both, that the Family Magics still swirled about her in warm welcome, spoke more to her as victim than as one derelict in her duty. She slid the signet onto her left ring finger and secreted the wand in her wrist holster.

Before making another move, she reached back into the safe and brushed fingertips over two of the runes etched there. They glowed briefly and a short blade popped out of the wall. Smiling at the accommodation, Narcissa nicked her fingertip and pressed the welling blood into the runes. As she removed her hand from the safe, her fingertip healed and a pile of wands appeared in a clatter.

Smiling glacially, she closed the safe. Once she had Lucius secure, she'd return the spares to their hiding spots about the Manor. Narcissa schooled her features into something hopefully less terrifying. She'd learned in girlhood to present a calm and smooth face always (the one the Prophet likened to 'the remote and disquieting beauty of a glacial field'), but the sheer unquenchable well of cold rage freezing her veins left her looking less than composed. 

"Malfoy elves, attend!" She commanded.

All fifteen of the House Elves bound to the family popped into the Study. They stood, quiet but alert, and waited.

"Before I say anything else, I wish to thank each one of you for continuing your work in our family whilst I was so ill. Without your dedicated service, the Malfoy family would have fallen into complete disarray." Narcissa spoke quietly, but each elf straightened proudly at her words.

"We have, however, been cruelly misused this last ten years. Mifrit?" She named the Head Elf.

"Yes, Mistress?" And elderly elf stepped forward.

"Is Consort Malfoy in?"

"He is being in the Library, Mistress." 

"Good. I have recalled all Malfoy wands to the safe. Kerrik, please remove Consort Malfoy to the Consort's Chamber. He will have no contact with the world outside those four walls. From this day, Malfoy elves will answer only my summons and orders. No other shall command you." She felt the shift in the bonds immediately, and by the murmur, the Elves felt it as well.

"I is seeing him in the Chamber, Mistress." Kerrik disappeared with a pop.

"There will be changes in this House, starting today. For now, you are dismissed." 

The elves disappeared as one. Narcissa sank slowly into the Desk's chair, swallowing hard. She set her hand flat on the desktop, hoping to dispel the shaking. One did not recover from a decade of near complete inactivity and illness overnight.

Even if one made a near miraculous recovery by _not_ drinking the tea one's beautifully solicitous husband brought every morning.

Oh, Lucius Malfoy would pay for his deceit, and dearly.

* * *

_Spinner's End,_ _Cokeworth_

Severus shut his front door, turned, and just leaned against it for a moment. He gripped tightly to the tin of biscuits, partly to keep his hands from shaking (rage? stress? who even knew), and breathed deeply. The faint hint of lemon oil furniture polish and the heavier scents of beeswax and lamp oil grounded him deeply in his home. He listened, letting the fire crackling in the sitting room grate and the muffled tick of his mantle clock further settle his jangled nerves. Slowly, his fingers unlocked around the tin, holding it more naturally, not in the vice grip he'd had before. Anxious questions wished to bound about in his brain, chasing answers until he'd worked himself into another headache. 

But he had a great deal more to do today than sit about and fret. He forced himself to push off the door, heeling out of his boots and padding into the sitting room in stocking feet. He'd left his house shoes upstairs. Again. 

"Severus!" The bright greeting, so reminiscent of the previous day, nearly had him hurling the tin at the voice. 

"Sir?" He managed a strangled reply, heart thudding. 

"How was your visit with the Weasleys?" Tom Riddle bustled (and how did a man of his size manage to bustle?) into the sitting room, bearing a loaded tea tray. The warm smell of baking scones drifted out of the kitchen with him before the door swung shut. He'd obviously done some transfiguration work on his clothing, enlarging a different shirt and pair of trousers to fit better.

"It…" he paused to clear his throat. "It went well, thank you. Mr. Weasley was called away, so I spoke to Mrs. Weasley. She sent me back with ginger newts."

"I just made tea...thought you could use something." He smiled gently. "Why don't you put your tin in the kitchen and then come sit with me?"

Gently worded as it was, Severus knew an order when he heard one. "I take my tea with only a splash of milk, please."

He escaped to the kitchen, thankful for a few more moments to collect himself. The vow he'd made once, to protect the boy, twanged at him, unsettling even his iron control. Now that he knew, he had to take action. Well, once he'd spoken to the Weasley boys, Merlin help him. Severus set the tin on the counter and paused. The dishes they'd used that morning sat in the drying rack, and a batch of steaming hot oat scones sat cooling on a rack he didn't remember owning. If he hadn't had more breakfast than he was accustomed to _and_ biscuits he'd have been tempted.

Turning, he swept back into the sitting room, sinking onto the sofa next to Riddle. He accepted a cup of tea and sipped...perfect. Severus wanted to be surprised, but found himself appreciating Riddle's domestic abilities instead.

"This is slightly awkward, Severus, but I have to ask a few questions before we go anywhere today."

"Yes, sir?" Severus wrapped his hands around the sturdy mug, rubbing his thumb over the rough pottery. He'd found the set--heavy, handmade pottery in olivey greens, smudgy purples, and shadowy grays--in a small shop in the Lake District.

"You're well acquainted with Lucius Malfoy, yes?"

"Since I was a first year, sir." Severus stared into his tea, shoulders tight.

"Has he ever disclosed his Designation to you?" 

Severus looked up, stomach dropping unpleasantly as he sifted through memories. Had Lucius ever? He'd hinted...he'd been a sodding _Gringott's chaperone,_ for Merlin's sake. If he'd misrepresented himself...Severus' breath caught. His entire financial life could be ruined if that walking hairstyle had lied to him.

"No," his own voice sounded faint. "He never said. Not definitively."

"I thought as much." Riddle set his mug on the coffee table and turned to face him.

Severus startled at the warm, gentle hand that cupped over his, the soft but inexorable fingers to his chin that forced him to meet Riddle's steady gaze.

"It's not your fault for believing someone, for trusting one thing about someone who was kind to you. He sheltered you, Severus, and it's not shameful to believe what he told you of himself." 

And he couldn't look away; Riddle wouldn't allow it. The soft words, far kinder than he deserved, had him flinching back. He should have known.

"If I am correct, Lady Malfoy has been unwell since Draco's birth?"

"She has begun to regain her previous health." The change in subject had him blinking.

"I believe she may have given him certain powers to act in her stead during her ill health. Lucius Malfoy is a Submissive, Severus, and the Malfoy title only passes to a Dominant heir...or the Dominant spouse."

"He's ruined me." Severus murmured, shutting his eyes against the truth. 

He'd allowed Lucius to chaperone him...they'd been seen practically everywhere. Small wonder so many shied away from him. What was left of his reputation...he shuddered. He'd always thought the Wizarding World's conventions surrounding Subs to be patronizing in the extreme, but he thought he'd played by the rules. The _impropriety_...he was well and truly fucked. This may have actually topped getting branded as a Death Eater in the Top Ten Scandals Surrounding Severus Snape. 

"I won't allow him preying on your need to ruin you, Severus. It is _his_ conduct that will be scrutinized. Gringotts will require some delicate handling, but I _will_ see you come out of this with your reputation and your finances intact."

Severus snorted, opening his eyes again. "My reputation has been irreparably fractured for a number of years, sir."

Riddle muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "not if I have anything to do with it". 

"Was that all, sir? I'd like a few minutes to dress before we leave." Severus tried for a tactful enquiry.

Riddle quirked an eyebrow at him. "Finish your tea, lad, and compose yourself. Then you may go and get yourself ready."

He drank his tea as quickly as he could without being rude. The heat of the drink through his mug warmed his hands while the bright, almost citrus notes lifted his mood. At least a bit. He rubbed his fingertips against the pottery, the repetitive motion soothing some of his stress. 

"Sir?" The quiet question fell nearly unbidden from his lips. 

"Yes, lad?" Riddle poured himself more tea.

"What did my...counterpart think of you?" He couldn't help the curiosity, driven to know that answer. It was the same urge that sometimes resulted in explosions in the lab.

"Oh, he would have cheerfully seen me to the bottom of Black Lake." Riddle smiled at him, warm and frank. "We had a somewhat...contentious relationship. I was called in as a response to...well, what happened at the start of your second term teaching?"

"The sixth and seventh years engaged in a 'prank', the results of which could have killed a professor. I took appropriate measures." Severus settled his mug on his knee and stared down into the depths.

"Your counterpart caned sixteen students in front of their housemates. I was brought in in the aftermath." Riddle clarified.

Severus startled, nearly upsetting his mug. Riddle removed it gently from his hands and set it on the table.

"I take it you didn't have the same reaction?"

"I would _never…_ " Severus began before stopping to collect himself. He did _not_ wish to sound like some hysterical, Wilde-ian duchess. "I confined them to their rooms and forbade them from communicating with either housemates or home. _I_ wrote to their parents or guardians, informing them of the situation and possible disciplinary routes. To a one, they chose the same consequences."

"That would sidestep the issue with, well, fourteen sets of parents and guardians screaming for your head." Riddle folded Severus' hands between his. "I do hope I won't be as much of an imposition on you, lad."

Severus swallowed hard. A Top, treating him with warmth and kindness, would be too easy to rely on. And it was only for a day. He _had_ to remember that, no matter how much he wanted. Riddle wouldn't stay forever. Hell, Riddle probably wouldn't stay past the evening, once he had his finances sorted.

"I doubt you will be." He answered, finally, withdrawing his hands. "I should go and dress."

"Of course, lad. I'll be waiting."

Severus left as quickly as he could without looking like he was fleeing.

* * *

Severus stood before his clothes press, ghosting his fingers over the fine fabrics. He ought to have known Lucius lied to him, on the basis of Narcissa alone. Lucius may have sheltered him--a seventh year to his first--but it was Narcissa who'd protected and taught and nurtured. Who even now sent his favorite tea, citrus from the orangery, and fine, soft robes...who _spoiled_ him, frankly. She'd taught him to carry himself properly, to speak well, to behave as a Pureblood ought.  

Thinking of her, his hands bypassed trousers and pulled out one of her gifts. He undressed quickly, depositing his teaching clothes on one of the valet stands that lived in the corner. Trousers folded across the bar, his coat on the heavily padded hanger, and his shirt folded and set over the trousers. He pulled on fresh combinations and padded barefoot back to the highboy next to his clothes press. He rooted around in one of the top drawers, coming up with a pair of fine, black silk stockings and Slytherin green ribbons.

Severus sat on his bed to pull on the stockings, adjusting the emerald green clocking to emphasize his ankles. He gartered them just below the knee with the ribbon. The garters weren't strictly necessary, charmed as the stockings were to stay up, but a bit of hidden cheekiness bolstered him, the snakes twining about the ribbons, ghosting an embroidered tongue over the garter's edge every so often. He slipped his feet into house shoes to keep his stockings from snagging on the floor and stood, turning to the pile of fabric on his bed.

First came a fine linen shift. He straightened the long sleeves and brushed his hands down the soft skirt of it. The cream colored under-kirtle went on easily over the shift, the same silk and wool blend as the previous evening, but this one with sleeves to accompany the high collar. Severus fastened the collar, settling the shoulders before smoothing the heavy skirts. He squirmed into the sleeveless, high-collared kirtle next, using a touch of magic to do up the opening at the left side. The black woolen fabric laid stark against the sleeves and collar of the under-kirtle. The collar fastened with just a touch of his fingers as well, and he arranged the under-kirtle's collar to just peek out over the kirtle's. He wouldn't wear a cravat, but the high, layered collars gave the impression of stock collar and waistcoat. 

Severus picked up the last layer and shook it out. He slipped into the long, flaring coat. As deeply black as the kirtle, it was cut almost exactly like his teaching coat. The skirts, though, flared out over those of his under-layers and skimmed the floor. He did up the buttons that ran from chest to hip, appreciating Narcissa's eye for detail in the perfect fit. Twisting his arm a bit, he fastened the buttons on one sleeve, adjusting the cuff down over his knuckles, before moving to the other. He shook out his skirts one more time before he hopped to settle everything and then went to check himself in the full-length mirror.

His breath caught in his throat at his reflection. The lamps lighting his room softened the edges, but he looked...he looked right. Both sides of himself, the Sub and the Master, blended skillfully in one ensemble. He wasn't a tall man; early malnutrition put paid to any great height or breadth for him (and he should have seen the markers in the young Potter), but the sweep of the skirt and the unrelieved black gave him _presence._ He'd never match the polished beauty of an Old Family Sub, but he finally felt like his deepest self. Heart stuttering, he trailed his fingers down the glass, some unspoken yearning lodged around his sternum.

But he had no time for yearning. He shook himself out of his reverie and went to collect his gloves from the highboy. He'd wear his black over robe out to dispel the slightly ecclesiastical look. One time being accosted in London was enough. And he would cease such silly _wanting._

* * *

Not wanting, Severus mused, was so much easier when your hand wasn't tucked into the crook of a very tall and broad Top's elbow, and you weren't being gently but firmly led places. 

For a Saturday, Diagon Alley was thankfully quiet, which he put down mostly to the appalling damp. They'd stopped at Madam Malkin's first. Hers weren't the best quality, but they'd needed quick and serviceable. A bit of a glamor over his face kept her from asking too many prying questions as she made adjustments to a ready-made suit and over robe. And Riddle being charming about lost luggage put paid to questions about him. But now they headed toward the bank, and Severus found himself nervous. If the Goblins took offence, or worse, blamed him...he swallowed down nerves.

"Are you certain you're up to this today, lad?" Riddle asked, voice warm with concern.

"I would rather get this done today, please," Severus replied quietly. "I would like to have one day of quiet."

"I am sorry for upsetting your...well, your entire life, really. I did rather drop you in it." 

Riddle patted his hand where it rested on his arm.

"You are exceedingly lucky I had a headache." Severus answered with some asperity. "I tend to hex first when I'm not half blinded with pain."

"As well you should." Riddle chuckled, leading Severus up the broad steps and into the polished marble halls of Gringotts.

They took perhaps four steps into the bank proper before a Goblin approached them. Severus felt the magic of his glamor snap under the wards as the fierce guard regarded them.

"You will follow me." He ordered, turning on his heel and making for the private offices.

Severus and Riddle fell in behind him, and Severus tried not to startle when two guards melted out of the shadows to bring up the rear. Severus allowed Riddle to pull him closer, having a stern word with his ego as the older man settled a hand at the small of his back. Just because he was _capable_ of handling any threats didn't mean he always _had_ to. He supposed.

They were waved into the Head Goblin's office, the two guards taking up residence just inside the doorway as they moved further into the room. Severus had never been in any of the offices before. The dark paneling lining the walls, heavy, velvet draperies over the windows, and deeply plush carpeting combined to deaden almost all sound save the steady scratch of quill on parchment. An elderly Goblin sat behind a massive mahogany desk, head bent over a ledger book.

"I intercepted them, sir." The Goblin leading them bowed at the Head Goblin.

"Good, Hrafgallt. You are dismissed." The Head Goblin finally spoke. "And you two can sit."

He didn't give his name.

Riddle ushered him into one of the padded chairs standing before the desk and then seated himself. Their escort left, followed by the guards. When the door closed, Severus felt a privacy ward snap into place. 

"Between the two of you, you have created several headaches for me over the past twenty-four hours. I do not care for headaches, gentlemen." He steepled his fingers and regarded them seriously. "Though it seems that both of you are more victim than guilty party. This." He pushed a craggy crystal forward on his blotter. "Is a message crystal. It is much more reliable than leaving a memory. It appeared on my desk yesterday morning. It was recently housed in the Sinclair vault."

Severus thought he'd heard the surname somewhere. Beside him, Riddle stiffened.

"Yes, I see Mr. Riddle recognizes the name. Pierce your finger and swipe it across the base." The Goblin held a pocketknife toward Riddle, handle first.

Severus watched as Riddle took the knife and knicked his forefinger. He let the blood well for a moment before smearing it over the base of the crystal. A flickering figure snapped into view, stepping off the crystal and trailing a glowing thread of magic back to the rock.

"Hello, Da-Thomas, I suppose. Your Auntie Ro wishes me to send her love to you. We didn't get to know you in this incarnation, but Aurora tells me you grew to be a fine man. As the you who existed here is legally considered dead, your situation is perhaps a touch precarious. I wish to offer you adoption. It's not precisely done, but it's what I would have offered had Ro and I found you in our...well, reality, I suppose. It won't change _you,_ but it will give you a name and a family. I hope you will accept this. No matter your decision, you are my heir and you will be cared for. Know that we tried to find you...hold that with you always, dear boy. May the light of your magic guide you always on the right path."

The figure faded away. Severus blinked, casting a sideways glance at Riddle who hadn't moved since the figure stepped off the crystal. Acting instinctively, he rested his hand over Riddle's forearm. Riddle startled then folded Severus' hand between his.

"They were very dear to me, where I came from. I would like to accept Martin Sinclair's offer of adoption." Riddle's voice came quiet and choked when he finally spoke.

"That, of course, makes my life much less difficult. Establishing an identity is tedious in the extreme. Sign here." The Goblin pushed a single sheet of parchment and a quill toward them.

Riddle took the sheet in his free hand and spent several minutes scrutinizing it before he signed. Severus only just quashed his curiosity.

"Congratulations." The flat, perfunctory way the Goblin spoke had Severus biting his lip. "You are now Darius Riddle-Sinclair, head of the Sinclair line. Will you submit to a lineage test?"

"I will, and thank you." Riddle-Sinclair (and didn't that answer why Tom Riddle never seemed to sit gracefully as his name) answered quietly. 

"It is not for you that I carry out my duty." The Goblin spoke quietly. "Your lineage and the vaults it will open will leave my domain stronger and ever more profitable. Pierce your finger and apply seven drops of blood to this parchment. It has been treated."

Severus perked up next to Riddle-Sinclair. He'd had his students brew the potion and test it (one-on-one in his office at scheduled and staggered times) but he'd never seen it in official use. He resisted the temptation to scratch at the edge of the parchment. As much as he wanted to see if he could discern any differences in potion ingredients, he wouldn't disturb the test. 

Riddle-Sinclair again pierced his finger. Instead of leaving a smear, though, he carefully let seven drops fall. The surface of the parchment rippled like a Pensieve at each drop before it absorbed the blood completely. When the last drop fell, instead of being absorbed, it quickly traced the last generation of a family tree. Lines and names appeared and the parchment grew as it flowed back through the generations; not skipping secondary, tertiary, and even quaternary Houses. When the process concluded, Severus and Riddle-Sinclair leaned over the parchment. They nearly bumped noses with the Goblin.

Severus had never before seen a Goblin look so delighted and never wished to again.

"As I had hoped, you are both the blood and Magic-sworn heir to Slytherin. And no connection to House Prince since the late eleventh century." He steepled his fingers and leveled a grave look at them. "I noticed Master Snape wore one of your little human tokens. I would be remiss if I did not warn you that continuing this would prove quite advantageous."

Severus barely smothered a snort. He'd never been an advantage in his life. And he was _not_ thinking about the heir to Slytherin bit. There were only so many shocks a wizard could absorb in one day.

"You have chosen," the Goblin continued as if Severus hadn't made a noise, "a young human of intelligence and…" he trailed off, actually taking in Severus' appearance. "He is at least the correct designation, since you all set so much store by it. And his clothing appears correct. And I presume you might have access to one of those hairdressers?"

Severus bit his lip, silently damning his sense of humor.

"We had agreed on one day only. Severus has been very accommodating, given that I quite literally appeared in his sitting room." Riddle-Sinclair spoke stiffly, offended on Severus' behalf. "I have no wish of trapping anyone in anything."

"I did not speak of trapping. You would offer him the protection of your name, and he could offer you safe navigation through an unfamiliar world. There is no shame in continuing an advantageous match, no matter how it began," the Goblin chided.

Severus considered remarking that he was right there and was capable of forming an opinion, but he decided to keep quiet for the moment. He had no great objection to continuing and deepening the bond, so long as he could preserve his freedom.

"I did not speak of shame, but of…" Riddle-Sinclair stopped and turned to him.  "Severus, what is your opinion?"

"If I could be assured my freedom, then I would have no objection. I will _not_ be a possession." He had never even _considered_ he might be in this position one day.

"I would never ask you to be anything other than wholly yourself, Severus. And I would never ask for more than you are willing to give." Sinclair-Riddle held his hand tightly, looking deep into his eyes, face grave and earnest.

"I have never considered a...love match. Honestly, I had never considered _any_ match. I will need to be free to work. I will not desert my Slytherins. And I shudder to think of what would happen to Potions at Hogwarts should I leave at present." Dimly, Severus was aware that his hands had gone ice cold and a sharp tone sounded in his ears. He seemed to be negotiating from very far away from his body.

"I will never proscribe your work life, unless your work is actively trying to kill you, Severus. You will always be your own person. We can negotiate any conduct which would make you answerable to me at a later time." The steady warmth of his voice slowly thawed Severus' chilled person.

"Then I will keep your disc, sir, for as long as you give it." Severus felt the nascent bond from the previous evening flare to fullness at his words. 

"Only as long as you wish to keep it." Riddle-Sinclair sealed the bond with the old words.

"Wonderful." The Head Goblin broke the moment. "I took the liberty yesterday, when the initial exchange occurred, to have a selection of the Slytherin bonding bands brought up from your vault."

Severus stared as he set a tray on the desk and removed the velvet cover. Silver bonding bands sat in the deep green velvet, untarnished by time. Or polished by an enterprising goblin.

"How would you know…" Riddle-Sinclair trailed off, tracing gentle fingers over the bands.

"There is Old Magic at work here. We were informed, suffice to say. I'll have the appropriate paperwork backdated and filed for you. If you could make your selection?"

Severus watched as Riddle-Sinclair ghosted his fingers over the tray, stopping at one set of bands. He lifted them out, a simple pair of plain-wrought cuffs, etched with twining snakes. They clasped with twined tails, two snake heads forming the depression for a single disc.

"Hmm." The Head Goblin looked up from his parchment when Riddle-Sinclair went looking for discs. "An interesting and fortuitous choice. Discs are in the drawer under the tray. Push some of your magic into it to make your mark."

Riddle-Sinclair located a pair of discs and handed one to Severus. They took a moment to mark the disc, Severus letting himself feel some wonder at the rightness...his magic fairly purred as he pushed it into the disc. His initials and his designation appeared in a flash.

He held his wrist out to Riddle-Sinclair, letting him remove the old band and clasp the new around his left wrist. For something wrought of metal, it sat warm against his skin. Riddle-Sinclair clicked his disc into the depression, the snakes opening their jaws to hold it delicately in their fangs. Severus traced reverent fingers over the whole of it before he repeated the actions on Riddle-Sinclair. 

"Now, if you see the teller on your way out, you will receive your vault information. Master Snape, we will be in touch. You may, however, rest assured that you will not be held accountable for the actions of Consort Malfoy."

They both knew a dismissal when they heard one. Severus rose on shaky legs, appreciating the arm Riddle-Sinclair offered. 

How his life had changed so drastically in three quarters of an hour, he would never quite know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is wondering, Narcissa is dressed in a style reminiscent of the late 1890s/early 1900s. She wears a skirt because she wants to, and no one tells Narcissa Black Malfoy what she may or may not wear. :-) 
> 
> She's using her clothing to signal that she and her family wish to be seen as Modern-Traditionalists. As reformers. We'll get a bit more into that as the tale progresses, but Lucius has NOT been representing the Malfoy interests at all how she wished him too.
> 
> On Tom's name - he was Darius Thomas Sinclair in his other reality. He might drop the Riddle, or he might keep it to tweak Dumbledore. :-)
> 
> And Severus and Tom are moving a little bit quickly, but there are reasons. Severus really never thought he might find any match, and Riddle is pretty well pleased with this Severus. He wasn't in love with Severus' counterpart, to be clear. He was fond of him in a way, but their relationship was pretty crap. And he can offer some protection to this Severus. We'll get more into what exactly being Slytherin's Heir means in a bit. There is A LOT of parchment in Riddle's future.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am ridiculously excited to start getting more of the side characters into this. :-) and thank you everyone for being so patient on updates. I had the flu for the end of December, and it's taking me a good while to really get over it.

_Slytherin Common Room_

_Saturday Prep Period_

Millicent stared down at her parchment and bit her lip before smoothing her expression again. It wouldn't do to make anyone else worry, even if she only had to concern herself with maybe three of her yearmates noticing. The prefects would notice, anyhow, because they always noticed. And if they noticed her worrying again, then Professor Snape would know. Despite it only being her second year, she and the professor had had several discussions about who exactly needed to be worrying about things.

If, of course, Professor Snape noticed. He hadn't been himself for a few days. He hadn't even scolded Pansy that morning (as he did most mornings) over her hair. She'd sported the most ridiculous pompadour possible, but there was no scolding, no Professor Snape taking her hair down himself and confiscating her hairpins, no professor braiding Pansy's hair while he lectured on age-appropriateness and not being in such a rush to grow up.

He may not even notice if Millicent got Mother to send another corset. And hadn't _that_ been a monumental to-do? Professor Snape and Mother had had _quite_ the conversation over it, once Mother got the thing back in the post. 

But he seemed so preoccupied. He hadn't even leveled any threats of dire retribution if they should misbehave in his absence. Add in Lady Malfoy recalling Draco home for the next week _and_ Potter having some kind of fit during Defense on Friday and it had been a very odd end to the week.

Mind made up, Millicent pulled a fresh sheet of parchment off her stack.

_Dear Dad,_

_I hope your travels are going well, and that you're making advantageous contacts on your way. Your account of meeting with the Indian cotton merchants was fascinating. I received the lengths of fabric you sent; they're absolutely lovely. The lawn in particular is of beautiful quality. I think I'll make a waist of it for Spring. Mother has some lovely patterns, and promised to teach me how to make proper hard collars._

_The wools and silks you chose for me for my school clothes this year are serving to keep me quite comfortable. Pansy and Daphne both think their clothes are much finer, but the quality is shocking for what they both said their mothers laid out (especially as they spend most of their time complaining that they're freezing). They certainly didn't visit any shop we supply._

_And please, Dad, don't be too cross with Mother? You know she only wants what's best for us. Mother won't ever tell you, but the whole misunderstanding upset her dreadfully. Professor Snape was really very kind to her once I helped to explain. You know, he's not nice, not really, but he can be very gentle (in his own way) once he understands._

_In any case, I wore the corset once (on the train to school), but Pansy and Daphne and Draco were just as vile as they were on the way home last year so I didn't bother with it again. And I had a good talk with Mother and Madame Pomfrey and I'm feeling much more sensible. I'm sorry I waited until after you'd left to say anything, but I didn't want you to worry. I'm just in the House with more than its fair share of absolute warts._

_Mostly I wanted to write because, well, it's been a bit odd around here. Odder than Hogwarts' usual standard, anyhow. Professor Snape isn't himself--he said nothing about Pansy's hair Friday morning--and he seems dreadfully distracted. Lady Malfoy recalled Draco home yesterday. Batty Fuller (Beatrice, Mr. Fuller's oldest, is a Hufflepuff firstie this year) said she came herself instead of sending a letter and that she looked like a woman on the warpath. Now, I'm not sure Batty on her own is a good source, but two other 'Puffs who are a good deal more sensible backed her up. And...Potter had some kind of a fit in Defense on Friday afternoon._

_That's the one that really worries me, Dad. Professor Snape will handle his own business, and Lady Malfoy will do whatever it is that Malfoys do, but Potter fitting was unnerving. This black stuff oozed out of his scar and the scream...Dad, I'll never forget the scream. Everyone froze, even Weasley. Granger and I were closest. When he went down...I remembered what Auntie Claudia taught me to do for Cousin Ernst. Granger got him onto his side, and I got my robes bunched under his head. Granger got Weasley moving for Madame Pomfrey...I've never heard her bark like that before._

_I know you said not to get involved in anything even remotely Potter-related as you remembered his father's prime toe-ragginess, but he's dreadfully thin, Dad. Draco keeps trying to spread rumors that Potter's relatives hate him, and it makes me wonder if it's true. I swear I'm not getting involved, I did promise, but I'm concerned. And that fit._

_Do you have any advice for me? I could really use some._

_I hope your travels continue safely, and I can't wait to see you for the Winter hols._

_Much love,_

_Millicent_

* * *

Everything had changed, and he didn't know how to integrate the new into the existing framework of his life. How did one balance a Bonded _and_ a demanding job?

How did one be a Sub?

His hands shook. Everything seemed so far away, even his hands as he clasped them together within his sleeves. It wouldn't do for anyone to see him so out of control. Had _had_ to keep himself together. He _wouldn't_ lose his composure publicly.

He barely felt Riddle's hand on his elbow. His ears rang so strangely and everything took on an oddly gray tinge.

"Severus? Lad? Are you...dear Merlin." Darius peered at his gray-faced and faintly wheezing bonded before starting into action. 

He wrapped an arm about Severus' shoulders and steered him into one of the side lanes. He looked up at the towering brickwork for the sign...Tansy Lane. That should work, provided the shops remained constant. He walked Severus briskly up the lane until he found what he was after. The Queensmark Tea House stood where he remembered, wedged between a secondhand bookshop and an apothecary of questionable reputation. The bell on the door jingled as he opened it and steered Severus inside. Worryingly, Severus went where he was pointed without so much as a peep of protest.

The shop looked much the same as he remembered. The dark-stained, wide-planked floor held the same marks and dings from years of boots and chairs. The shutters over the front windows were closed, heightening the dim quiet, noise further muffled by the carved paneling cladding the lower half of the wall and the cream-painted plaster above. The ceiling, though, had been clad with copper to reflect the low-burning lamps hung from wall sconces. The chairs and tables stood crowded into the floor-space with cozy booths lining the walls. It was, as he'd expected, deserted at that time of morning.

Darius found a booth and settled Severus quickly before he wove through the chairs and tables to the counter and summoned up a smile for the young woman behind it. She was much younger than the servers he remembered, barely out of school, perhaps. Her bright dress and white apron were a beacon in the dimly lit shop.

"Could I trouble you for a cup of strong, sweet tea? My bonded has had a shock and is the worse for it." He gestured toward the booth. "We're in booth 30."

She sucked air in between her teeth when she craned her neck to see around him. 

"I'll have it right out, sir, quick as anything." She turned to the little range behind the counter and hooked a kettle onto it. "It'll just be a minute."

"Thank you, miss." He retreated to the booth, throwing propriety to the winds and sitting next to Severus.

"We'll have tea for you in a moment, lad. Merlin, your hands are freezing." Even if Severus couldn't answer, he could take his poor lad's shaking hands in his and rub some warmth back into them.

He'd seen this look before; the blank, faraway stare he associated with soldiers and the Blitz. Darius knew only the barest outline of Severus' war experiences, but he had a feeling this was more a man ill-used to anything remotely nice happening. He looked down at the click of mug on table and frowned.

"I'm sorry, miss, but I asked for tea, not chocolate." And looked up to a wand pointed straight at his heart.

"Who are you and what have you done to Professor Snape?" The counter girl demanded.

Darius opened his mouth to answer.

"Don't give me any bonding nonsense, either."

"We really are. Just this morning at Gringotts. If you'll allow me to raise my sleeve and the Professor's, I can show you." He didn't move, barely breathed as he waited.

"Move slowly and don't twitch your hand. Professor Snape was my Head of House. He tutors the older students in Defense." It was more threat than comment.

"I'm currently wandless." It was giving away a weakness, but perhaps? In any case, he forced his hands to steady while he gently pulled Severus' sleeve up, followed by his own.

She peered down at their matching bands and discs. Her eyes widened as she took in the crest on his--a crest every Slytherin would know.

"You're…" she trailed off, paling, and holstered her wand. "You're really…and you..."

"Confirmed this morning, miss."

"Oh." She dropped heavily onto the seat opposite, slumping. Her dismay highlighted her youth. "Oh, I've really fucked it up this time."

"Eglantine Holyoaks Dunwoodie, mind your mouth." Severus came back to himself with a start and a scold.

Eglantine jumped, squeaking in alarm, and Darius had to cover his mouth to hide his amusement. She fairly shot upright, knocking her knee against the underside of the table in her haste to sit straight.

"Are you…" Darius trailed off, not quite knowing what to ask. Instinct shrieked at him to pet and coddle his young man, but he knew enough about Severus to know he'd pull back a stump if he tried any cosseting in public. Proud as a cat, Severus was.

"I find myself quite recovered, thank you." Severus shifted until he sat straight, folding his hands in his lap. "What brings you here, Miss Dunwoodie?"

"You're in my tea shop, Professor." She grinned proudly. 

"You were engaged?" It seemed a non-sequitor, but the girl just sniggered.

"Oh, that fell through so Dad gave me my dowry to do with as I pleased. Turns out being a dab hand at Potions translates to tea brewing."

"You haven't given up your research to work here, I hope." Severus leaned forward slightly, concern creasing his brow.

"Oh, no, sir. I bought the building when the previous owner wanted to sell up. I've a flat of my own and some rentals upstairs and a lab in the basement." She looked a bit smug. "I run the shop during the day, and I can tell you the tea served here was shocking before I took over. Now, drink your nice chocolate and I'll bring you some soup. You look peaky, sir."

She departed quickly, leaving a gobsmacked Severus in her wake.

"Three years ago she'd barely look me in the eye." Severus murmured, but took a sip of his chocolate.

"You are recovered, Severus?" Darius took one of Severus' hands between his.

"I apologize for my…" Severus wouldn't look at him as he started.

"No, lad. No apologies. You've had a difficult time of it and you've had more than your fair share of shocks today. You'll drink your chocolate and have some soup, and then we'll get you home," Darius decided.

"No." Severus' hand shook a bit as he disagreed. "I'd rather finish our errands today. You must have a wand."

He wanted most to get Severus somewhere safe and quiet, but he also didn't wish to be too high-handed. Everything had happened so quickly that they hadn't discussed anything relating to...well, what liberties Severus would allow him to take.

"If you're quite sure? You will tell me if you wish to leave at any time?" Darius pressed.

"I give you my word, sir." Severus promised, swallowing heavily.

"Here's your soup. It's split pea, made fresh this morning, with breadrolls." Eglantine set two bowls on the table, along with a faintly steaming cloth-covered basket and a crock of yellow butter. "And you're going to eat, or I'll be writing to Derry Halthorpe who'll write Lady Malfoy."

It was only through intense self discipline that Darius did not laugh at Severus' face. Finding your students no longer in awe of one was a shock to the system. Especially the ones who once treated one with great deference. Add in that said student seemed determined to manage one, and, well.

Severus took one of the bowls almost mechanically, good manners overcoming shock. "It looks delicious, Miss Dunwoodie."

"Thank you, Professor. Please don't be a stranger when you're in the Alley? I've got to reopen in a few minutes or I'd sit a moment." Eglantine took her leave, flicking her wand at the sign on the door to turn it to open as she went.

"I'm not entirely sure what just happened." Severus admitted, spooning up soup.

"Your students have grown up, lad," Darius patted his hand gently and turned to his own lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Professor Snape and Millicent's parents aren't adamantly against corsetry, just corsetry worn by children. Most of the children dress in a way similar to the early 20th century since many Slytherin parents are trying to rehabilitate their reputations. They want to be seen as modern (in my version of this world, the early 20th century IS considered shockingly modern). 
> 
> The young women who choose to continue to dress in a late Victorian/early Edwardian fashion generally choose to start wearing corsets around 16/17. It's considered appropriate then, as they're preparing to step into an adult world. They also have a lot of choice in terms of materials, but many choose a corded corset or corset waist as opposed to something boned with heavier materials. There are spring steel corsets available; they're just not as popular.
> 
> Millicent was so upset by Draco, Pansy, and Daphne bullying her over both her size and shape that her mother thought it worth trying once, as they don't have as much social clout to bring to bear. She wasn't happy about it, but she wanted her daughter more comfortable in her own skin. It only helps so much pointing out that she's the spit and image of Auntie Claudia when she's twelve and miserable. (Auntie Claudia grew up to be quite a formidable woman.)
> 
> The Bulstrode family runs the largest clothier in the wizarding world, supplying domestic wool and linen (they have quite a few sheep and flax farming operations), as well as imported silk and cotton. They have most of the major accounts with shops like Madame Malkin's and Twillfit and Tattings. Most of the wealthy families order directly. They're known for the quality and variety of their fabrics. 
> 
> Despite the wealth this brings them, they're still In Trade. Her father built his business over time. In addition, her mother is Foreign. And not even elegant foreign, like the French. She's from a very old German family (Millicent didn't tell her father, but the comments from her yearmates about her mother hurt her more than the taunts about her oen looks/figure). So, unfortunately, they simply can't bring social pressure to bear as, for example, a Black could. No one is getting off lightly, though.
> 
> We'll also get the fun of some Slytherin reactions to Professor Snape's 'bonkers' views on health and well-being. Horror of horrors, he believes in the restorative powers of exercise AND in children getting enough sleep. Also in children dressing and behaving like children. Yes, that means you, Pansy Parkinson.
> 
> Oh! Millicent prefers 'sensible' clothing. Stout laced boots intsead of buttoned, shirtwaists with high collars (all the better if it's a high collar and a tie), waistcoats, and woolen skirts down to her boot tops.


	6. Chapter 6

Humiliation churned in Severus' gut as he allowed Riddle-Sinclair to lead him from the tea shop. Only one other person had ever seen him like that, and he had years of experience in trusting Minerva. He had no experience in handling a Dom after...after. Instinct led him to stay closer than he otherwise might, letting Riddle-Sinclair take his hand and tuck it in the crook of his elbow. His new band sat heavy and warm against his wrist, a constant reminder that he no longer answered only to himself. Had he ever only answered to himself? Had he traded Albus' twinkling-eyed cage for a gilded one?

Did he ignore what happened and plow forward? Did he attempt an explanation he didn't possess? Part of his earlier...lapse...was the realization that he had no earthly clue how to be bonded to another...how to _be a Sub._ He shoved that train of thought firmly into a mental box and padlocked it. He could panic about _that_ later. At home. Where he would rather be, but a wand and a wardrobe took precedence. He would survive.

"Is Ollivander's where I'd expect it to be?" Riddle-Sinclair asked.

"Down by Twilfitt and Tattings," Severus confirmed. 

Riddle-Sinclair turned them in the correct direction. Severus didn't quite have to scuttle to keep up, but Riddle-Sinclair seemed to forget not everyone possessed such great height. Luckily, though, the streets remained mostly deserted in the damp and sog of the early afternoon. A light mist wafted along on the barest breeze, adding to the dismal atmosphere. Their boots clacked on the cobbles, broken occasionally by the soft splash of sole meeting standing water. Severus found himself eternally grateful for the warm clothing, stockings, and boots Narcissa had chosen.

Thankfully, Riddle-Sinclair didn't try to get him to talk. He patted Severus' hand occasionally, hooking a finger into the band hiding under his cuff after the pat. Oddly, the contact and the little tug at the band helped Severus relax fractionally each time. By the time they entered Ollivander's, his shoulders were relaxed and his breathing even. Riddle-Sinclair opened the door to the wandmaker's shop and ushered Severus inside, following closely.

"Ah! Professor! Did you need another batch of holsters?" Ollivander appeared from the back of his shop and stopped short. "You're not precisely the Tom Riddle I remember."

"I've been traveling." Riddle-Sinclair allowed drily, stepping around Severus, and Severus stifled a snort. "Darius Riddle-Sinclair, Mr. Ollivander."

"We lost the Sinclairs last year, Mr. Riddle. I don't recall a Darius in the family." Ollivander chose his words carefully.

"I've been traveling, as I said. An adoption was quite kindly afforded me by the Sinclairs, albeit at rather a distance. Unfortunately, my rather...precipitous travel left me wandless. Would you be willing to see if you have anything that might fit?" Riddle-Sinclair chose his words as carefully as Ollivander.

"Which hand do you use?" Ollivander came around his counter and approached cautiously. 

"My left, generally. Thank you, sir." Riddle-Sinclair held his left hand out and allowed Ollivander's measuring tape to wind around his fingers.

Ollivander reached for his measure, squinting slightly at Riddle-Sinclair. When their fingers brushed together, he reeled back, gasping. Severus darted forward when the old man staggered back against against the counter, getting a hand under his elbow to steady him. 

"Are you injured?" he asked, checking Ollivander's pulse.

"No, no professor. Thank you. I...I think I have a wand that will suit, Mr. Riddle-Sinclair." He shook Severus off and tottered back around the counter, disappearing through the curtain.

"Was he…" Riddle-Sinclair started.

"He was startled, but not injured. I have a balm, though, in one of my pockets that I'll leave with him. He may have wrenched something." Severus patted at the cleverly hidden pockets in his over robes until he found the little jar. 

Ollivander came back through the curtain holding a single box. "A singular wand for a singular person, Mr. Riddle-Sinclair. You have indeed traveled far to come to us." He opened the box with a flourish. "14 inches, rigid. Cedar and English Oak with a phoenix feather core. Give it a swish."

Riddle-Sinclair reached out slowly and closed gentle fingers around the handle. He lifted it, a soft smile lifting the corners of his mouth, and gave a gentle swish. A soft, golden light enveloped Severus for a moment before swooping through the store. No boxes were disturbed, unlike many a first flick, and the whole store seemed lighter and warmer for just a moment. 

"Yes, that will do nicely." Ollivander smiled smugly. "Would you like a holster as well?"

"Yes, please. One with anti-summoning charms applied, if they're available." Riddle-Sinclair stepped to the counter, jiggling in his trouser pocket. He finally pulled out a small, copper charm engraved with his crest. "You still take the mark?"

"Of course, Mr. Riddle-Sinclair. That will be ten galleons." Ollivander took the mark and pressed it to the sales slip he'd just written up. It glowed green for a moment, leaving its impression when he lifted it. "Will you wear it out?"

"I will, thank you. May as well start as I mean to go on." The brisk, happy tone from him made Severus think of cricket pitches and public school gits.

Severus watched Riddle-Sinclair buckle on the bracer-style wand holster and fit his wand into it. He practiced a moment with the new holster, twitching his hand so his wand shot into it. He slipped his mark back into the small waistcoat pocket it was supposed to travel in and turned with a smile for Severus.

"Thank you again, Mr. Ollivander. Severus, did you need anything today. Mr. Ollivander mentioned holsters?"

"No, thank you. None of my students have managed to lose theirs, yet. I do have a salve for you, Mr. Ollivander, if you wrenched anything." He set the jar on the counter, dipping his chin as he retreated back to Riddle-Sinclair.

"Thank you, professor. I'll be looking forward to seeing what you accomplish together, gentlemen."

With that, accompanied by a cryptic smile, Severus and Riddle-Sinclair took their leave, feeling a bit unsettled.

"Well, I think after _that_ a trip to Bulstrode's is in order." Riddle-Sinclair decided. "Nothing quite gets your mind off Ollivander like fondling the old woolies."

Severus' prodigious mind screeched to a halt. Was that...was that _innuendo?_ Directed _at him?_ Was Riddle-Sinclair _flirting?_ And why did his stomach _flip_ like that? And his lungs come over all short of air? Perhaps his earlier lapse affected him more strongly than usual. That must be the case.

"I _beg your pardon, sir._ " And balls, he sounded like Dowager Longbottom winding up for a good harangue. If his hands were free he'd probably have one pressed to his chest in indignation.

Riddle-Sinclair seemed to process what he'd just said and chuckled. "I beg pardon, lad. I didn't mean to be crude. Bulstrode's does have the best quality woolens, though."

Severus gave him a flat stare, not quite ready to forgive. Fondling the old woolies, _honestly._ "You don't prefer Twilfitt and Tattings?"

"Oh, Merlin no, lad. I'll inquire after a good tailor while we're there. I picked up extra shirts and things at Malkin's. Those'll do me until I can get to a tailor. We'll look for some good fabrics for you while we're there, as well." Sinclair-Riddle looped his arm through Severus' and drew him off down the cobbles.

"My wardrobe is quite satisfactory, thank you." Severus couldn't help the icy tone.

"Oh, lad, I don't mean it that way. Just, we're Bonded today and I'd like to bring you something other than chaos." 

Severus knew damn well when he was being managed, but between the warmth in Riddle-Sinclair's voice, the strong forearm under his hand, and the warm shoulder pressed to his he couldn't find much to complain about. They walked at a more measured pace, now that Riddle-Sinclair had a wand, pausing every so often to peer in a window, before ducking down Fullers Way toward the warehouse district. 

The buildings crowded the narrow street, seeming to loom toward the middle. Riddle-Sinclair drew him closer as they walked on. The Wizarding district wasn't a large space when seen on a map (which generally only showed Diagon and Knockturn), but they'd added wizardspace pockets over time to give themselves more room than their medieval counterparts needed. 

"You don't need to," Severus answered quietly. New things--a dress for his mother, flowers, some other trinket--generally followed the worst from his father. He had no idea what to do with the gifts that came _before._ Or what might be wanted in exchange.

"No, I don't." Sinclair-Riddle agreed. "But I'd very much like to, lad. Nothing extravagant, I promise. You might need to get used to being looked after, though. I've been told I'm wretchedly overbearing."

"And I have been assured by a decade of students that I'm a bad-tempered, foul, greasy bat, so you'll have your work cut out for you." Severus tried to settle himself again, but true composure seemed to have fled.

"Good thing I know a bit about bad-tempered brats, lad." And Riddle-Sinclair looked at him with such warmth that Severus felt his cheeks heat.

"If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to make a few extra stops today." Best thing to do with uncomfortably kind Doms was ignore them. He wouldn't let himself get used to this.

"Where would you like to stop?"

"The stationers--I have two Muggleborn first years who are finding out the hard way that magic degrades Muggle-made items--and a bookstore, and, er, Helmer and Jigsaw's. The weather is getting worse and children do need things to keep them occupied indoors." He refused to be ashamed of seeing to his students as he did, even if saying it aloud made him want to squirm.

Despite commentary from the other house heads, he held fast to his ideas. Namely, that boredom was at fault for much of the misbehavior they saw. Most of what he handled in-house was a combination of overindulgence in material things and little constructive discipline. Practicing one's Crucio on an hysterical teenager might sound cathartic for the parent, but did little to address the behavior, _and_ only made one's child live in fear. He'd never forget little Matilda Carruthers face when she realized that she'd be neither cursed nor beaten for poor penmanship.

Not that he wouldn't put the fear of himself up his students when called for, but he'd found that keeping them busy and entertained, making certain they slept properly, and coming down like the petty tyrant he was in matters of nutrition kept his Slytherins pretty well-behaved on the whole. And insisting that the lower school children were _children_ and the upper school students were _young gentlefolk._ But keeping them entertained meant occasional forays in bookstores for reading material and toy shops for games and activities.

"Slytherin getting a bit bored with the games on offer?" Of course Riddle-Sinclair would know about it, and it gratified Severus to know his ideas were shared by his counterpart.

"I had to outlaw Risk--a Muggle game--when my seventh years decided to take their deadlocked land war in Asia to the corridor to settle it with a duel," Severus explained. "So we are in need of new entertainment as the two in question have finally finished de-scorching the walls. Nothing that contains world conquest, preferably."

Riddle-Sinclair chuckled. "And something new to read?"

"Always, with the way some of them get through novels. And Potions supplements. Some of my Muggleborn first years turned up without."

"I think we can manage a few extra stops. But if you're tired or find you'd rather just go home, you will tell me?"

"I will, sir. Thank you." It felt so odd to answer that way, as if there was a chance he'd be told no.

Riddle-Sinclair turned them, then, to head into Bulstrode's. The frankly giant storehouse supplied just about every fabric need the Wizarding world might have, except for the general school robes. Merlin only knew where Malkin sourced _that_ stuff. Most of his students had theirs made specially...after their first year. Draco had complained near incessantly about the poor quality last year. 

The heady, pungent scent of wool predominated, with softer undertones of the lavender that kept the moths at bay. Warm and inviting and well-organized, the main shop floor showed the breadth of product nicely. The back wall held the vast selection of tweeds and tartans, from darkest to lightest. With the range of blues and purples at center, it held a solidly tranquil air. Patterned and plain cottons, silks, and lighter wools took the floorspace, each length wrapped around a bolt and standing within a display case. The colorful display nonetheless did not tire the eye. Whoever organized the stock knew how to combine patterns and solid colors to ease the overwhelming nature of a large and varied stock.

Riddle-Sinclair, though, ignored the displays and made straight for the counter at the one end of the room. They queued behind a man Severus recognized by voice. 

"I do not see, Madame, why my order has been canceled and my account threatened!" Thin, reedy, and whining, Lord Parkinson blustered at the woman behind the counter. "I will accept an apology, as I'm sure it was _your_ error, and a complimentary dress length for the stress you've put my wife through."

"I do regret that you came so far out of your way, Lord Parkinson, but there is no error. Bulstrode's canceled your order as, according to your daughter, you weren't sure you wanted strange, foreign hands on your cloth. In addition to that, Miss Parkinson made it very clear how she thought of my daughter. You will find that House Corves does not take such insult lightly." Madame Bulstrode held firm.

Severus pressed his lips together to keep from laughing outright. Madame may not have been able to challenge the insult to her child within the drawing rooms the Parkinsons frequented, but she could refuse any order she wished, leaving them without the quality goods they preferred.

Parkinson let out one last indignant huff before he stomped out, muttering "Flanders mare" under his breath. Severus had to jerk Riddle-Sinclair hard by the arm to keep him from following Parkinson. Madame Bulstrode took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. She was a small woman, modestly dressed as if it were still the 1850s, with a white cap on over her smoothly dressed, dark hair. 

"I do hope you haven't been terribly hurt by them, Madame," Severus found himself saying as they stepped to the counter. 

"Professor! Millicent is well?" Worry creased her brow and darkened her brown eyes.

"Miss Bulstrode is well, Madame. I'm on my weekend off, and my Bonded finds himself in need of a new wardrobe. Madame Bulstrode, this is Mr. Riddle-Sinclair." Soothing her worry, he made his introductions. 

"Congratulations, Professor. It is good to meet you, sir. What are you in need of?" Severus saw her filing away the 'my Bonded' before she turned professional. At least she wasn't a gossip. He abhorred unnecessary lying.

"Honestly, everything and a good tailor. I was recalled in a terrible hurry--I've been traveling--and I have no idea what happened to my luggage. Irresponsible of me, I know." Riddle-Sinclair turned the full force of his charm on her. "My Uncle always said that if you needed good tailoring, ask the Bulstrodes."

"Which Sinclair was it, who recommended asking, if you don't mind?" She fixed him with a suspicious look, and Severus couldn't blame her. 

Her daughter's confirmed bachelor of a professor shows up with a man he's claiming as his Bonded who managed to lose all his luggage, which could easily have been shrunk and put in a pocket. Who also claimed kinship with a dead family. He'd be suspicious too.

"Martin. He...well, he and Auntie Ro were very good to me." 

"I am sorry for your loss. They were, as you say, very good people." He seemed to have satisfied her. "I can recommend Tamsin Du just three doors down. We are her only supplier, and she has openings now. Will you be opening an account with us?"

"If you take the mark? I arrived yesterday and only just got my affairs in some semblance of order this morning." Severus really would have to remind him not to try to charm the stockings off everyone they met. 

"We do, sir. If you'll fill this in, please?" Madame Bulstrode produced a parchment form. "You can press your mark in the box here." She ticked it with a quill. "And Professor, while Mr. Riddle-Sinclair finishes, would you like to see our Acromantula silks? Millicent wrote that you were interested in testing different grades for a specific potion?"

She lifted the passthrough in the counter and popped through, her skirts catching a bit. Severus found his arm gripped in a surprisingly firm hand as she led him to the back of the shop. She nattered on about the different grades of silk until they reached the furthest corner. 

"Now, down here we have the industrial grade used for parasols and umbrellas. Would you be so kind as to help me? The undyed goods are unfortunately on the bottom." She crouched down, gesturing to neatly wrapped bolts of fabric standing on a lower shelf.

Severus followed suit, nearly falling back when she grabbed his hands.

"You are safe, Professor? This is a sudden match." She whispered, staring at him intently, her grip strong.

"Madame?" Severus managed, shock stealing his voice for a moment.

"You are not coerced? He did not force…"

"No! Madame Bulstrode, no." Severus surprised himself with the vehemence of his answer, even as he pitched his voice low. "It was done at Gringotts this morning. There was an old agreement between our families come due."

Possibly a lie, but most old families had a contract or two hanging around.

"But you had choice? Even Gringotts..."

"I could have left at any time, Madame. He is very careful not to overstep." He wanted to put her mind at ease while keeping some small semblance of personal privacy. If anything, it was a good rehearsal for Minerva.

"Good. Good. I...it is silly of me, but my people were old fashioned sorts and my Millicent is very fond of you. If you ever have need, I have friends on the continent, Professor." She gave his hands one last squeeze and hefted a bolt of fabric from the stand. "Would the industrial grade do as a start?"

"I...yes, Madame, I believe it would. And thank you, Madame." Later, he knew, he would laugh at the picture they must have made--Madame Bulstrode's skirts ballooning about both their knees, crouched down between display cabinets, whispering like some kind of conspiracy in the making. For now, her concern warmed him. He wasn't used to people worrying after him who weren't Minerva and Pomona.

He straightened, taking the bolt from her so she could stand as well. She shook out her skirts and led him back to the counter. 

"We have some offcuts at the counter, as well. I'll give you a few of those, and we'll package them so they're labeled. Is undyed better?"

"I believe undyed would be better, thank you. The fewer variables for which I need to account the better."

"You will let your students know the results? Millicent will share the news, and I'd be very interested. And, thank you, Mr. Riddle-Sin…" she trailed off, staring at the crest engraved into the parchment. "Great Merlin. But the line died…"

"It came as quite a shock this morning." Riddle-Sinclair looked conflicted.

"Well." Madame Bulstrode spoke briskly. "Bulstrode's isn't known for gossip and we won't start that reputation now. I'll have a word with Miss Du, as well. She does excellent work, but she is young, yet."

"I...thank you, Madame." Riddle-Sinclair seemed taken aback. "I'm not entirely sure of color preferences or style, yet. There are quite a few things I need to settle."

"I'm sure. Miss Du will likely have color preferences for you. You'll receive a letter at Spinner's End in the next two days confirming your account. Would you like me to arrange for an appointment with Miss Du, as well?"

Severus couldn't quite suppress some small amount of smugness at Riddle-Sinclair being the one handled for once. And so easily, too, as Madame Bulstrode wrapped up his silks and handed him the packet at the same time. He rather wished he could take notes.

"I...yes, thank you. That would be most helpful. Would you ask if she has a...Severus, when is your next free weekend?"

"The third weekend of December, sir." Oh, he wasn't.

"Would you ask if she has an appointment any time during that weekend? Professor Snape will be on my account."

It was only determined good manners that kept Severus from sweeping out. He hadn't mentioned anything about _appointments_ earlier.

"I'll ask for both, Mr. Riddle-Sinclair. An emergency one for you, yes?"

"Yes, please. As soon as can be arranged. Thank you, Madame." He bowed slightly as Madame Bulstrode filed away the paperwork before offering an arm to Severus.

"For the silk, Madame?" Severus asked, reaching into his pocket.

"The offcuts and the swatch are complimentary, Professor. I've been looking for a good place to send some of the bits and bobs we wind up with. Write if you need any more." 

He didn't quite believe her, but put his packet into one of his pockets before accepting Riddle-Sinclair's arm. The heavy wool of his outer robes should keep it from the appalling damp.

The rest of their trip passed quietly, mostly because Riddle-Sinclair didn't try opening any more accounts. Severus used his Slytherin house mark for the stack of novels and several new games he acquired and the populating notebooks his students preferred. They were a good bit more dear than scrolls of parchment, but the neatly bound volumes would update with new blank pages as needed. Using one per subject meant all one's notes stayed neatly together and could be used come NEWTs.

By the time they walked back through his front door, Severus was not too proud to admit exhaustion. His feet and back ached, and all he really wanted was a hot bath, soft clothing, and a cup of tea the volume of Black Lake.

"Get your things settled lad, and get yourself into a bath. You look done in." Riddle-Sinclair ordered easily as Severus unloaded his pockets onto the console table in front of his lounge windows.

"Pardon?" Severus answered mildly. If one didn't stamp down on bossing early, it would get all out of hand. In theory. Still hadn't worked on Minerva or Pomona.

"Go and have a bath, lad. You heard me." Riddle-Sinclair sounded more amused than anything. "And you know it's good sense. You had a hard day yesterday and a hard morning and afternoon today. A bit of rest and looking after has been well-earned. I'll put a tea tray together for when you're done and get the fire going in here."

Severus clamped down on his instinctive negative reaction. He wanted a bath about as much as he didn't want it to be an order. But hot water up to his chin sounded lovely. And if Riddle-Sinclair wished to handle tea trays and fires...Severus headed for the stairs.

"Thank you, lad." 

The soft notice of his going stopped Severus on the third step. He wasn't particularly good at any of this.

"I...you're…" he trailed off, not quite sure what he wanted to say. "I do recognize good sense," he finally managed, thankfully crisply, and fled with Riddle-Sinclair's warm chuckle chasing him.


	7. Chapter 7

Severus trailed down the stairs after his bath, feeling slightly more himself. He'd pulled on a soft, icy gray under-kirtle made of a nearly sheer silk and wool blend with a low collar. The tight sleeves that mittened over his hands buttoned from cuff to elbow with tiny, flat, blackwork buttons. Over that, he wore a short sleeved woolen kirtle in a rich aubergine, the collar wide enough to show his neck, but high enough to keep his collarbones decently covered. Both the neckline and sleeve cuffs were picked out in fine, silver embroidery. He'd bound his hair back with a length of silvery ribbon, even though he felt somehow exposed. Air whispered over the bare nape of his neck, such an unfamiliar sensation, leaving him feeling a bit...well, transgressive, he supposed.

Although, he reflected, trailing his fingers down the railing as he descended the narrow staircase, he could quite properly go about at home without covering his clavicles, now. If he wished to. They were Bonded. Ditto his neck. He'd have to be even more careful when out, but he wouldn't have to worry about rumors if someone ever dropped by. He quickened his pace, lured by the scent of scones and chocolate wafting out of his kitchen. He turned left at the bottom of the stairs and walked quietly into the kitchen, skirts rustling as they trailed a bit at the back.

He stopped in the doorway and took in the scene. Riddle-Sinclair had a Gringotts post box open on the floor and folders of parchment piled haphazardly on the table. A tray stood in the middle of the chaos, holding both a teapot and a chocolate pot along with a plate piled high with steaming oat scones. He could just make out the butter crock and jam pots under a stack of loose parchment. 

It hurt his orderly soul, _acutely_. 

"Sir, what…?" Severus trailed off, gesturing to the table.

"Ah, Severus! Are you feeling a bit better?" Riddle-Sinclair looked up from the folder in his hand, smiling. "You're still welcome to call me Tom, you know, or Darius, although that really was only for business."

"I find myself recovered, thank you, sir." Severus answered, ignoring the invitation again. "What is all this?"

"Gringotts gave me a post box this morning, thankfully shrunk, and it appears they've been busy. These are all the things one must go through, apparently, when one is bringing a House back to life. That pile is real estate holdings." He pointed to the pile threatening to topple onto the scones. 

"Right." Severus took a deep breath in. "You're not going to get anywhere like this. We're going to organize all...this…" he gestured at the table, trying not to pinch the bridge of his nose, "and then you'll tell me what you're after. Sir." 

He couldn't help it. So many years of teaching and forcing organization on chaotic young minds left him incapable of letting this level of nonsense exist anywhere near his person. And definitely not in his kitchen.

"I, er, suppose I got a bit carried away. They shrunk bundles of documents and I just kept going. Merlin knows how many there are still in there." Riddle-Sinclair sighed as he glanced down.

"These are real estate holdings?" Severus rescued the scones from imminent crushing and his stomach growled. His cheeks heated at the uncouth noise.

"Thought you might be hungry." Riddle-Sinclair seemed not at all put out by it. "We'll get this lot tidied and we can go through it whilst we eat."

He suited action to words and stacked a bundle of folders in a more orderly manner. Severus moved around the table to help, methodically reducing the chaos to calm. Soon, they had enough space to sit and eat something. Riddle-Sinclair pulled out a chair for him, a gesture that seemed so at odds with the dented floors and elderly cabinets. He'd put his energy into making the main living areas his own, and suddenly wished he'd given more thought to the kitchen. He sat, though, appreciating the small bit of care. The last person to pull a chair out for him...the less thought about Lucius the better, actually, he decided.

"I thought you might like chocolate better than tea right now, and I put out all the jam. I wasn't sure which you'd prefer." Riddle-Sinclair poured him a mug of the chocolate and set a scone on a small plate. 

"Thank you, yes." Severus let himself bask in the pampering. Merlin knew it would end soon enough, given he was looking at real estate. "Could you pass the apricot jam, please?"

"Of course, lad." He nudged it over, snagging the damson preserves for himself. "Oh, and there should be pictures in the real estate folders. I'd like you to winnow down the ones you like best, and make certain there's a lab or space for one, and some kind of study for you, as well."

Severus choked on scone, too surprised to be embarrassed by such a childish lapse. He coughed until, with a hearty thump on the back from Riddle-Sinclair, he dislodged the treacherous crumbs. 

"Pardon?" he coughed a bit, sipping his chocolate to help his raw throat.

"This is very much your space, my lad, and I'd like it to stay that way. You need somewhere all your own, just in case you need quiet and solitude."

That explanation clarified nothing.

"I don't think I quite understand?" he managed, faintly.

"I'm not going to insist you turn your study into a bedroom, Severus, and I am definitely  _ not _ leaving you on your own. Did you think I'd just clear off?" He seemed highly offended, and Severus swallowed on nerves at the darkening expression on his face.

"I didn't know…" Severus stared at his hands twisting in his lap. "I knew you'd want to be somewhere else…this isn't really conducive to...I..."

"And it's hardly going to be a home without you in it, you ridiculous brat. I made you promises I intend to keep." 

He left his seat, knelt down before Severus, and hooked a finger around Severus' band. It warmed under his touch, the little serpents flicking silver tongues over his skin in greeting.

"We're Bonded, Severus, and that means something. I'm responsible now, to and for you. I will not leave you alone in this world, lad. No matter what shape this relationship takes, you're mine and I'm yours. You're stuck with me."

The honest kindness and the sincerity radiating from him left Severus as breathless as choking. He'd expected, really, to be left with a Bond in name only, no matter the promises made. He hadn't expected any of this when he woke that morning. It seemed so far away now.

"I...I don't…" he couldn't put the strange tightness in his chest into words.

"All right, lad. We're going to lay off the heavy topics for now. Just remember that your home base is with me, and this can remain your sanctuary. Now, have your chocolate and scones, and we'll have a quiet evening looking through real estate. If you take that pile we can go into the sitting room and enjoy the fire."

Severus did as he was told, mechanically. His mind whirred with the new and wholly unexpected realization that he was wanted. His whole life only a few people had truly wanted him for himself. And somehow, he'd stumbled straight into a person who looked at him and saw someone worth keeping. The whole thing felt surreal.

Perhaps Pomona was correct, when, deep in her cups, she suggested that Magic will see that you get what you deserve. Eventually. May come generations down the line, but eventually Magic will catch up.

"Severus-lad, sit down and stop hovering. You look like a nervous clerk sure he's about to get the bollocking of his life." Riddle-Sinclair ordered from his seat on the settee, the tea tray safely on the coffee table.

Severus jumped, only just keeping hold of the folders, and near scuttled to do as he was told. He folded himself down onto the cushions, letting his slippers thump in the floor as he pulled his feet up to sit cross-legged. Normally, before company, he'd sit with both feet on the floor and his back straight, legs and ankles decently covered by either trousers or robes. But he'd be damned if he didn't make himself comfortable in his own home after that speech in the kitchen. And he had enough skirt to be properly covered no matter how he sat, in any case. 

Riddle-Sinclair just patted his knee fondly (Severus thought it was fondly) and held out a hand. 

"Give me half?" He asked. "And eat more than one scone, Severus. You're a bit thinner than you ought to be."

Severus straightened up and glared as he handed over half the stack. The nerve of the man. The absolute, bloody  _ cheek _ of it. He'd be spouting Pomfrey's party line in another minute. 

"You can glare all you like, pet. It doesn't stop you looking half-starved. Have you been forgetting meals?" It hadn't even taken a minute. "I'd...do you think you could try to remember to eat more regularly?"

Riddle-Sinclair stood again and spent a moment puttering, lighting lamps in the dim room. Severus heard him at the secretary for a moment, right before his glasses dropped into his lap. He scowled down at them, despite feeling oddly pleased Riddle-Sinclair remembered. Then a knitted throw enveloped his shoulders. He startled despite himself.

"You looked chilly. Now, have your chocolate, pet." Riddle-Sinclair settled again, and Severus  _ knew _ he simply ignored the seething from the other end of the settle.

"I will  _ try _ to eat more regularly," Severus grumbled with bad grace, pulling the throw closer about his shoulders and wiggling a bit to let it fall behind him. He unfolded his glasses and settled them on his nose.

"Thank you, Severus." Riddle-Sinclair handed him his plate, the scone hot again. 

Severus nibbled, sipping on his chocolate. The hot, buttery scone, spread thickly with apricot jam, fairly melted on his tongue. The rich chocolate went down easily, warming and filling at the same time. He snagged the top folder and flipped it open, rifling through the parchment inside. He found what he expected--a quick prospectus, a floor plan, and photographs of the exterior elevations, the  interior, and the gardens. 

The first folder he discarded quickly as far too opulent. Who really needed fifteen bedrooms? And three reception rooms, two dining rooms, a conservatory, a music room, two parlors, and a smoking lounge. In any case, Severus Snape, owner of a two-up-two-down (with extra wizardspace bathroom no one need discuss), didn't belong in places like that. 

Although he could use a conservatory. There were a few plants he'd like to try growing for potions. The next folder looked a bit more promising, and more moderately sized. Well,  _ looked _ would be the operative word. Did any well-off wizarding family ever decide they  _ didn't _ require upwards of ten bedrooms? And forty-two, really? Who, precisely, were they entertaining? They weren't Morningsides or Borleys or Weasleys. Or that person Elspeth Morningside married...Blydh? Some Cornish gentleman. Bedrooms aside, the basement included a sizable Potions laboratory. And the grounds seemed...workable, from the pictures. 

He missed having a separate Potions garden and kitchen garden. As it was, he had to pay attention during the summers lest he harvest something that wasn't a courgette. But would he be allowed to garden so extensively? Narcissa left most of that to the elves. Would he be expected to host as she did? Before his brain could spiral into another panic, Severus drank more of his chocolate (and either he'd missed a trick or some clever clogs was using magic, because his mug had refilled) and thumbed through the parchment-stuffed folders. 

Five more he discarded immediately, just on aesthetic grounds. If he had to live somewhere grander than his current address, it wouldn't look like  _ any _ of those places. Over-fripperied monstrosities, the lot of them. He wiped his fingers on his knee. He  _ abhorred _ over decorated architecture; give him good, solid stone or timbering any day. Certainly not somewhere that looked like  _ you'd _ be gilded if you stood still for more than a moment. 

The next four had more promise--low, rambling stone structures with expansive gardens and decent laboratory space. The pictures of the insides sent three of the four onto the no pile. The fourth, though, still had the heavy Tudor paneling, massive fireplaces, inglenooks, and mullioned windows. The main staircase alone warranted a look in person, and the garden plan...someone had planted a Potions garden at one point. 

He tapped his fingers against the folder and bundled the two acceptable properties together. The last, a London townhouse, went onto the same pile. It was acceptable, Georgian in architecture, with the high ceilings and large rooms they'd preferred. Refurbished a bit, it would make a decent base for Riddle-Sinclair when he had Wizengamot sessions.

Maybe...Severus crushed that line of thinking before it really got going. Riddle-Sinclair he was, and Riddle-Sinclair he would remain, even in the privacy of his thoughts. For a time. Until Severus was sure. It wouldn't do to get too attached, no matter the promises made.

"We should get our story straight." Severus murmured. 

"Hmm, lad? Have you finished? If you have, hand me what you like and you can look through mine." Riddle-Sinclair held out two folders. 

"Of course, sir. But we also need to get our story straight. I told Madame Bulstrode we fulfilled an old contract." Severus took the folders from him and handed his own over. 

"We may well have, so that's as good a tale as any. I'll check the paperwork Gringotts sent. I had wondered what all that whispering was, though. It was good of her to ask."

Severus hummed his assent. It was good of her, and the knowledge that he had someone who understood what Bonding meant for a Sub...well, it made the future much easier.

"If anyone asks why I was an unknown, I was educated at home by the Sinclairs." Riddle-Sinclair continued. "They took my mother in after she realized exactly who my father was. The two of us lived in seclusion to keep him away. He believed she died. I left England as soon as I was able after my mother died and spent the last twenty years traveling."

"You've given this some thought." Severus commented quietly. "It may well be a good thing I'm used to keeping more than one story straight."

"There is one thing I have to say, pet. I don't care what happens going forward. Your spying days are done." 

Severus opened his mouth to protest. He didn't really mind so much, but if he let Riddle-Sinclair start making such pronouncements, he'd never get him to stop (More than likely. Popular literature was quite clear on the subject, but he'd never had someone to ask). His traitorous brain rather seemed to like the idea, so it was obviously a non-starter.

"No, lad. Not one word from you. I won't interfere with Hogwarts, you have my word on it, but your extracurriculars for Dumbledore are done. I saw what it did to you, lad, and there shouldn't be any call for it, not now." 

The final tone and the set of his face had Severus swallowing down a protest. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to test Riddle-Sinclair's resolve. In the future, perhaps, but not after such a difficult day. He knew himself well enough, at least, to know that at some point he'd push, if only just to satisfy his curiosity. Any...Brat...would be curious, coming up against the solid wall of Riddle-Sinclair's will.

"Yes, sir." He answered quietly, head bowed, feeling unexpectedly off-kilter. Dreams and reality collided in rather a shocking way, sometimes.

"I don't think it likely you'll hear much of me forbidding something, lad, if it's any consolation. And thank you." He patted Severus' shoulder. 

Severus nodded and opened the folder. He shut it just as quickly and, acting on pure instinct, thwapped Riddle-Sinclair on the shoulder with it.

"You...honestly? Hogwarts?" He spluttered. 

Riddle-Sinclair threw back his head and laughed. "I didn't mean to twit you like that, pet, but I do have the right of residence."

"For the record," Severus answered icily. "I am  _ not _ living at Hogwarts year round."

"No, I didn't think you'd wish to." Riddle-Sinclair managed to get his amusement under control. "Privacy is important."

"There are two northern properties I found acceptable--one Tudor and one later--and a London townhouse. You'll need somewhere to stay and entertain during Wizengamot..." Severus opened the last folder and trailed off, staring at the floor plan.

"The London townhouse is a good idea, lad."

He barely heard the praise. Severus traced a finger over the picture of the Hall, open to two floors, with pale stone walls and wide-planked floors. The giant fireplace, a fire roaring within, gave the large room a cozy feel. The rest of the pictures felt similarly with wide hallways, deep set windows streaming light into the space, and the same pale stone. Something about it called to him.

"This," his voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "This one. You don't need to look at the others."

Severus startled at the gentle hand on his arm and pulled his eyes away from the file. Riddle-Sinclair moved slowly to trail his fingers down Severus' cheek before he cupped it gently. His eyes were soft and warm, and a lock of his chestnut hair fell over his forehead. Severus swallowed hard, unaccountably moved by the gentle touch. He tried not to lean into it, he shouldn't display such weakness, but his body wouldn't cooperate. He couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him so softly. Or at all.

"In another place, I spent the best years of my childhood here." Riddle-Sinclair tapped the file. "It's Sinclair House, pet, and I'm so pleased you want to settle there."

"There's something," he started, pausing to catch his breath, a difficult task when Riddle-Sinclair still cupped his cheek in one large, warm hand. "Something about it. It's…"

"It's refuge, and sanctuary, and home, lad. Uncle Martin and Auntie Ro worked hard to make it so." His voice, warmly approving, had Severus swallowing down a complicated tangle of feeling. "There's acres of land about it, and the whole place looks almost as if it grew out of the landscape. It's a Lutyens, the wizarding one."

Which meant little in Severus' actual life, but he'd heard the name before. From Lucius, actually, who'd been an absolute snot about 'the shame of more recently built architecture' as the current Malfoy Hall dated to the Elizabethan period. But he wasn't thinking about Lucius.

"It's beautiful," Severus breathed. "And the Potions garden…"

"That was Auntie Ro's. She was brilliant." Riddle-Sinclair finally moved his hand, patting Severus' knee. "She'd be thrilled that they'll be tended again."

He shifted, sitting closer to Severus, putting out heat akin to the fire in the grate. Severus shivered a bit as Riddle-Sinclair pulled the floor plan out from under the cover sheet. 

"You won't object to me tending the gardens?" Severus worried at a corner of the folder.

"Severus, lad, no. I'll say it as many times as needed, but I'll never interfere with your work as a Potions Master. That includes potions gardens. I want you to have the freedom and space to work. There will be times I may put my foot down, as with you and spying, but I'll interfere with your life as little as possible. I've imposed enough on you." 

Severus thought many a Sub would do backflips of joy at that, but some small part of him felt bereft. The bit of him he'd spent his entire life shoving down and ignoring wanted...more, now it was within his reach. Especially after that rather growly 'I know how to handle bad-tempered brats'. The want surprised him most. He'd never wanted like this before, never  _ let _ himself want. It had always been too dangerous, first with his father (and school...he'd had nightmares about Gryffindor discovering his designation), then during his apprenticeship, and then as a spy.

"What might you forbid?" He asked quietly, still looking at the file in his lap. "Just as a reference point."

"Is it like that for you, pet?" 

Severus startled a bit when Riddle-Sinclair's big, warm hand covered his. He shifted like an embarrassed firstie, refusing to look anywhere but at his lap, cheeks burning. The warm understanding lacing his words mostly made him wish to curl up under the settee. Riddle-Sinclair moved closer, closing the small gap between them, and settled his other arm around Severus' shoulders. Severus trembled at the contact, so unused to anyone touching him that he wasn't certain he could bear it.

"Do you need more from me, Severus? Do you need a proper Top to look after you?" The gentle questions nearly undid him.

"I  _ don't _ need looking after." Severus rasped, making a bid for freedom. Humiliatingly, he went nowhere, and found himself held within the circle of Riddle-Sinclair's arms.

He turned automatically, instinct overriding will, hiding his face in Riddle-Sinclair's broad shoulder. One hand snaked up to twist into the soft robes of his other shoulder and Severus found himself squirming out of his cross-legged pose to curl closer. Riddle-Sinclair shifted him over, practically into his lap, and Severus shook harder. One strong arm barred across his back, holding him close, and the other hand cupped the back of his head. Riddle-Sinclair rocked them slightly and spoke quietly as Severus fell apart for the first time since his teens.

"What you need and want is important, my lad. If you need more from me, if you need me to  _ be _ your Top in more than name, that's more than fine. It's not particularly in my nature to take a step back, despite this being less than twenty-four hours old. If you want this of me, pet, then you'll get the full measure of care and protection and discipline you ought always to have had. That you deserve to have. You deserve to be cared for, Severus."

Severus shook his head against his shoulder, chest heaving against the emotion. The whole bedrock of his adult life, hell, his whole life, cracked open as messily as he was. He never realized how much it would hurt, when the dream you kept locked away in your heart suddenly came true. When the white knight you'd daydreamed in your weakest and most vulnerable moments breached the walls of your self-imposed tower prison and sent your carefully built defenses crumbling to dust.

"Yes, my lad, yes. You ought to have been protected and loved cared for your whole life. And I'm here for you, now. You've been strong, pet, and you've survived, but it's time to set down your troubles, to let me carry you, to prove to you that you can trust me."

"I...I don't know...I…" Severus coughed, raising his head enough to scrub the wet off his cheeks. He couldn't remember the last time he'd wept like that, and he squirmed a bit, suddenly realizing he sat curled up in Riddle-Sinclair's lap.

"None of that, pet. You can stay where I put you." Riddle-Sinclair rubbed Severus' back gently. "Do you want more from me, Severus?"

Severus shivered. "Will it always be 'stay where I put you'?" he asked, voice quiet and scratchy from the emotional storm he'd weathered.

"I won't lie, Severus. I'm not what anyone would call a permissive Top. I'm strict, and I expect to be obeyed. But I also try not to ask for more than you can give. If you say yes, I will be the head of this family, with all that entails. There will be rules and there will be discipline, but you will also have me to stand between you and the world, whether you need that or not. And we'll work together to make our Bonding a successful one."

It sounded terrifying and wonderful and like everything he'd wanted and never thought he could have. Narcissa gave him a taste of it, sometimes, sending gifts now and then just because she thought of him and taking him to task when she thought he looked tired and worn down, but he never even considered he'd have the opportunity. There was only one answer to give, even if it took all his courage to give it.

He ducked his chin and nodded against Riddle-Sinclair's shoulder. "Yes...I don't know what I can give...I've never...it hasn't been safe."

"That's alright, my lad. You'll learn. We'll discover the shape of this together." He soothed. "Have you never had any kind of relationship?"

Embarrassing as it was, Severus felt some steadiness return with the question.

"When would I have had time? I wasn't anyone's idea of a mate in school, and I made certain very few knew how I'd designated. Then there was a double Mastery to complete and brewing for the Dark Lord and then spying and then double agency. After that, I wound up the Head of Slytherin House  _ and _ teaching Potions to the entire student body. During Summers, I just wanted some peace and time to experiment. And I wouldn't have made time, except…" he trailed off, flushing up again at his rant.

"Except that Magic intervened, and saved us both from ourselves." Riddle-Sinclair finished, tucking Severus closer. "I want you to set your mind at ease on one subject, though. We may be Bound, and that may give me certain rights over you, but we will only have a marital bed when and if you decide you want that in our relationship. I'll certainly exercise my rights to get you eating and sleeping more, and when called for to smack your naughty bottom, but sex won't happen unless and until you decide it's wanted."

Severus could never quite be certain he hadn't hallucinated that speech. His face flamed, ears positively burning, by the end of it, despite his stomach swooping with delicious nerves at the part about smacking (he didn't necessarily  _ want _ to be smacked, but like most of his Type the threat produced a nervy fizz and a confusing muddle of want-don't-want). He hid his face in Riddle-Sinclair's shoulder again and managed a strangled squeak by way of reply. 

He desperately wanted to hide under the settee for the remainder of eternity. Honestly, he could lecture his fourth year and above students on the subject, but not hear a perfectly nice speech promising he wouldn't be rushed or hounded without going to pieces. It had to be his general state of emotional upset. He wasn't that much of a complete and utter imbecile. 

"And now that we've settled that, my lad," Riddle-Sinclair started (did he give the my a bit more emphasis?). "We are going to have a quiet and calm evening. We're going to finish our tea, I'll arrange to see the house tomorrow, and we'll have a cottage pie later for supper. And you are having an early night."

"Are you one of those Tops obsessed with sleep?" Severus let himself tease, just a bit, just to see the reaction.

"Oh, absolutely." Riddle-Sinclair answered cheerfully, and just as teasingly. "I do so love managing a surly Brat."

"There are times I must patrol at night," Severus pointed out.

"And if I feel you're claiming a patrol to cover for insomniac wanderings, then I'll be asking Professor McGonagall for a schedule." 

Teasing or not, Severus pulled back to glare at him (up, very slightly even on his lap, because the absolute peacock gave himself a ridiculous height. Not that Severus carried any bitterness toward his own less-than-tall stature. At all.) in disapproval. Unfortunately, the glare that reduced firsties to tears produced no effect. 

"I  _ thought _ you said you wished to build  _ trust _ between us?"

"Yes, and if I feel like someone might be stretching the truth a titch, I'll verify." He rubbed a soothing hand down Severus' back. "You really aren't used to anyone keeping an eye on you, are you?"

"I  _ don't _ need the likes of…" Severus bristled at the amused, patronizing tone and began hotly. Riddle-Sinclair pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. 

"Peace, pet, unless you'd like to find out what a smacking from me feels like right now. I'll tolerate a certain amount of sarcasm and cheek, but I'll never tolerate flat rudeness."

Severus clamped his mouth shut and seethed, seriously rethinking his yes. Keeping an eye on him, indeed! Riddle-Sinclair was lucky he didn't bite the finger shushing him.

"Now, settle for me, my lad, and rest a bit. You've had a hard day and too much upset. No wonder you're feeling a bit waspish. And for the record, pet, biting is an equally atrocious idea."

The soft words and equally gentle hand rubbing the back of his neck soothed Severus despite himself. He curled himself close, resting his head against Riddle-Sinclair's chest. The soft drubbing of the man's heart had him relaxing further, letting himself collapse bonelessly, so slowly that he barely realized what he was doing. His eyes fluttered shut, lulled by the crackling fire before him and steady heartbeat under his ear. 

Tom reached carefully for the throw as Severus slowly succumbed to sleep. He tucked the soft, wooly blanket about his brat and settled Severus a bit more comfortably in his lap. Beside a soft, sleepy grumble, Severus barely twitched. A fond smile curled his lips at the grouchy noises. He hadn't meant to threaten a smacked backside so soon, but he was a firm believer in starting as you meant to go on. Uncle Martin had certainly drilled that one into him, half the time via the seat of his trousers. He'd been an absolute terror that first year with them.

He'd often wondered what it would be like to have a Severus who didn't want him dead, buried, and decomposing (preferably at his hand), and found it surprisingly delightful. He wanted so to make a success of this, to soothe this brilliant, complex soul, to give him what he'd gone without for so long. And, if he was being quite honest, Severus, prickly brat he was, was exactly the kind of challenge he adored. That he'd quite contentedly fallen asleep in his lap wasn't lost...there was already some level of trust there.

Perhaps, in time, they could build love as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This absolutely was NOT supposed to be like this. This was supposed to be 2k of Severus eating scones, being taken care of, and making bratty commentary on the idiocy of Wizarding country houses. 
> 
> Instead we had an emotional breakdown. At least Severus got snuggles out of it. It's not entirely in character but:
> 
> 1\. He's in private, somewhere he actually feels safe.  
> 2\. He's having a lot of very confusing feelings without a whole lot of time to process.  
> 3\. He's quite vulnerable at the moment, which is why Tom wants him to have a quite evening.  
> 4\. Years of PTSD tell him not to trust, but instinct tells him he's very, very safe.  
> 5\. His entire world has changed, including his probable longevity.   
> 6\. He's never been in a relationship and he's very quietly panicking.
> 
> And yes, he's short. We're going to have a reason for that, other than I quite like that Tom can more effectively cuddle him. 
> 
> As warning, the next chapter is notes on dress and modesty in the Wizarding World. It was too many words for a note. :-)
> 
> If you've left a comment, I will repsond. I sometimes have limited spoons, so it may take me a bit. But I read each and every one.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can technically skip this chapter, since it's notes on dress and modesty in the Wizarding World. I'm leaving it as a handy reference for anyone wondering what's informing my writing in terms of dress. :-)

Notes on Dress

Dress is important to the Wizarding World, touching everything from the everyday to holy days and rituals. Many of the oldest families wear medieval styles, ranging from the 1050s to the 1550s (what we would consider more traditional wizard's robes). The only update is the underwear. The tight-fitting knitted combination suit is a more modern innovation, introduced in the late 1800s. Ritual wear generally falls into the medieval styles.

A magic user's "robes" encompass everything they wear from the skin out. Because we love confusion, the last layer, worn (generally) outside the home, is also called a robe (singular, no s). Some will refer to an over-robe, instead, to differentiate. The over-robe is an important piece of clothing. It's worn (generally) outside the home, or when entertaining inside the home. It takes an ensemble from an intimate setting to a social setting. The over-robe won't be worn when entertaining family (unless you don't like them) or when entertaining intimate friends within one's home.

Since wizarding fashion grew out of medieval styles, clothing is much less gendered. More modern styles (anything that's trouser-based for men) wind up being slightly more gendered, but it's not uncommon for wizards to wear skirt-based later fashions or a witch to wear trouser-based fashions. 

Fashion tends to be differentiated by Class (depending on the era selected). Medieval styles are extremely Class-based. Subs wear kirtles and Dominants wear breeches (or hose) and tunics (generally knee to floor length). Magic users who wear later styles (with a skirt and trouser differentiation) tend to just wear a Band and have done with it. 

The majority of magic users wear styles from the 1880s through the early 1900s. There was a large influx of Muggleborn students about that time who brought their fashions. Many who select these styles wish to be seen as modern or reformers while still conforming to community modesty standards. Some Subs who choose to wear trousered styles will have the jacket made floor length, but most will just wear a Band. 

Post-1915 styles aren't worn as much, but those who choose them will have them modified to fit modesty standards. Skirts will be lengthened and collars modified. Some go with the early 1920s due to skirt length and easily modified collars. With a lower collar, if it can't be modified or the wearer can't be bothered, a high collared chemisette, guimpe, dickey, etc. will be worn. Or a fichu for the absolute end in 'can't be arsed'.  


While just about any period can be worn, most will not wear the more extreme styles. The farthingales and panniers, giant 1830s and 1890s sleeves, bustles and crinolines are generally avoided. Unless someone really wants to be That Extra.  


 

Notes on Modesty

By community standards, modesty is much more important to the Wizarding World. It's not gendered or Class-based; all society members are expected to comply. Modesty standards function in a few ways:

  1. They keep people comfortable for the climate. The layers and fabrics used have been carefully considered to keep one warm in winter and cool in summer. 
  2. Clothing can be charmed or embroidered with runes for protection in layers. It's one reason sexual assault isn't as common; the most reactive protections against sexual assault are embroidered into underwear.
  3. The layers and protections worn also keep you from being used in magic. Covering your skin and hair and wearing charmed accessories keeps anyone from getting your hair, skin cells, etc. that can be used in Potions and other magics. 



 

Children Under 11

  * High collars, covered from neck to knees. 
  * If later styles worn, skirts are to knees or trousers are knee breeches.
  * If medieval styles worn, skirts are ankle length.
  * Long sleeves



 

Children Over 11 Under 17

  * High collars, covered from neck to calf
  * If later styles worn, skirts to calf or long trousers
  * If medieval styles worn, skirts are ankle length
  * Long sleeves
  * For the 12-16 skirt wearers (1880s through early 1900s), skirts gradually lengthen to the floor.



 

Adults (17 and Over)

  * High collars, long skirts or trousers, long sleeves
  * For eras with lower necklines, fichus, chemisettes, and partlets are worn if the collar isn't modified  

  * Necks, collar bones, decolletage, shoulders, arms, backs, and the full leg are covered
  * Evening dress for women may include a lower neckline, but never a bare back or arms. Most will not wear a low neckline, but will show off wealth by way of fabrics and embroidery.  

  * Some adult Subs will only wear long-skirted clothing and will have eras modified if it's not medieval. Most just wear a Band to avoid the bother.
  * Severus mentioned that he didn't have rights to wear breeches and a tunic - this is because his non-teaching clothing is based in the 13th-14th century.
  * When leaving the house, an over-robe is always worn. This clearly delineates between a public and private persona.



All this is why families like the Weasleys and Muggleborns are so shocking. Jeans are tighter and more revealing than most Wizarding trousers. T-shirts show the forearm. Skirts are much shorter than is considered decent, and some girls wear knee socks that leave their knees bare. Clothing is more gendered. The Weasleys are an old wizarding family, but they don't behave like it. By their clothing and manners, they've partially divorced themselves from the larger wizarding society.

It's also why the Dark Mark was so easy to hide. No decent witch or wizard would bare a forearm in public. It's also why the Mark is so transgressive. You have to bare your skin to receive it and then later show it. 


	9. Chapter 9

_ Saturday Night, Late _

_ Hogwarts _

 

The near silent patter of feet on a flag floor where there ought to have been silence had Borley turning on the spot. Madame Pomfrey was just about beside herself and he'd promised to keep an eye out for late night wanderers. Mother would call the headache that sent him up to the Hospital Wing providential. He followed the noise, his leather-soled boots silent against the floor. 

And there, just ahead, a small figure in Hospital pajamas darted across a doorway. Borley rolled his eyes and hastened his step, reminding himself that he  _ wanted _ to be a Prefect, if only to continue to rub his father's nose in his success. No one, though, explained that prefecting included handling Draco Malfoy's spoiled arse and chasing after escapee Potters before he agreed. Well, Aunt Elspeth gave him some pointers, but nothing covering the absolute nonsense he was exposed to on the daily. 

Professor Snape's headache potion habit made more sense by the hour. 

He slipped up behind the little miscreant as the child stopped to look for patrolling adults in the cross hallway. 

"I wasn't aware 'stay in bed' actually meant 'wander the halls'," he remarked cooly.

Potter jumped about a foot off the ground, squeaking in fright, and whirled around to face him. Defiance and cross about being caught seemed the dominant emotions as he glared up.

"It's none of your business where I go!" Potter retorted in a quiet hiss.

By way of a reply, Borley flashed his badge. "I'd say it's definitely my business. Come on, snidget, back to the Hospital Wing with you. You've worried Madame Pomfrey enough for one night."

Potter's eyes shifted to the open corridor and Borley clamped a hand down on his shoulder before he could do something completely dim. 

"Absolutely not. I am not chasing you down tonight. Now, you can walk back on your own like a well-bred wizard or you can--" he cut off, staring at Potter's bare feet.

Bare feet in October on stone floors? Did he have some kind of pneumonia wish? Habit and early life indoctrination took over as Borley swept the kid up and plunked him onto his hip. They both froze, staring at one another while Borley's mind worked.

Did anyone actually make sure Potter  _ ate? _ He had nine year old siblings and niblings who were taller and weighed more. For one lovely moment silence reigned before Potter drew in a sharp breath.

"Put me down!" He demanded quietly, thankfully not kicking. Maybe he had some kind of sense of self-preservation.

Borley gave him A Look (bless Aunt Elspeth for drilling him on it when he first got his badge), raised eyebrow speaking volumes.

"If I let a child wander around in October, in Scotland, on bare flag floors,  _ barefoot, _ and didn't stop it immediately, my mother...actually  _ every adult in my family _ would skin me alive, Potter. And trust me, no one wants to witness my mother dressing me down for negligence. She's terrifying when she's annoyed."

"I'm  _ twelve! _ " 

Like that made a whit of difference? He gave it all the attention it deserved. If he didn't wish to be carried, then he could just grow a few inches. Or a foot. Something niggled at the back of Borley's mind. 

"I'm not a child! And you can transfigure something!"

Oh, that old chestnut. Apparently Professor McGonagall didn't stamp it out as soon as it appeared. Professor Snape had precisely no patience for children claiming they weren't children. 

"Transfigure what? Stone into socks? You're old enough to remember socks before you go sneaking out of bed. Welcome to the wild world of consequences, Mr. Potter." The Look worked for a few moments until Potter tried one last volley. 

"And you're a  _ Slytherin _ prefect!"

"What has that to do with the price of eye of newt in Argentina?" Borley strode back toward the Hospital Wing as quickly as possible. "You're a Hogwarts student; I'm a Hogwarts prefect. The color of your tie means nothing in the face of my responsibility to you. And you're absolutely a child, you realize. You can complain if we're still doing this in five years time."

Potter favored him with a face that could curdle milk. It was his own fault for making it halfway back to Gryffindor barefoot, quite frankly. He could just stew in his own displeasure.

"Would you like to try an explanation for why I found you halfway back to your dormitory?" Borley asked after a moment. 

Potter remained silent and glowering.

"I'm not docking points, and I doubt Madame Pomfrey will, either. I am curious, though, did you think no one would notice your disappearing act?" Sometimes playing the sympathetic elder unstuck stubborn tongues. 

"She wouldn't let Ron and Hermione visit, and she wouldn't let me out even though I feel fine!" Potter complained. "I hate the Hospital Wing, and Madame Pomfrey always says I'm  _ delicate. _ "

Complaints, at least, could help get to the bottom of a problem. Personally, Borley thought Pomfrey might just be on to something. The tiny boy in his arms certainly felt delicate enough, though he understood the venom lacing his voice. What twelve-year-old wanted to be considered delicate? Who also wasn't a Pureblood, thinking delicacy of constitution was somehow more refined. He and Mainsley and Prothero only just got Parkinson and Greengrass to stop fainting every time they were barely inconvenienced. Or claiming an imminent nosebleed due to emotional distress. Although that one mostly came from Malfoy with a side of Fitzroy.

"I can see how that would be annoying, especially if you're not particularly delicate. Madame Pomfrey is very careful about all of us." Sometimes, having to be diplomatic and prefecty was just the pits. 

"I'm not delicate at all!" Potter complained, warming a bit now he had a definitely sympathetic ear. As if that wasn't also worrying. Weasley minor would have bitten his face off. "I've never stayed injured or sick more than a day before. Now every time Madame Pomfrey sees me she makes this noise!"

"The sort of clucking one?" Borley asked. He only heard that one when it was actually serious.

"All the time." Potter grumbled. "Well, every time she sees me. Wood thinks I bruise too easily and...well, bruise balm."

Wood, in Borley's opinion, ought to be locked up letting someone Potter's size on the team. Professor McGonagall lost a bit of his respect that first game for coming up with it in the first place. He filed 'never  _ stayed _ injured or sick' away for later reflection. The wording didn't sit well. 

"At least Wood is looking after his team." Borley allowed. "It must be hard, all the fussing."

"I  _ hate _ being  _ fussed _ over." Potter muttered, a yawn interrupting him.

"And we're back, just in time it seems." Borley bumped the door to the ward open and went through, shutting it quickly behind him. "Madame Pomfrey?" he called.

"Oh, there you are. Mr. Potter, what are you doing wandering off? And with no socks on! Set him down there, Mr. Borley, please." Madame Pomfrey bustled through from her office, face tight with worry. 

Borley pulled the blankets back on the bed she indicated before he deposited Potter on it. He pulled the covers up over the kid's legs, hoping to warm his feet quickly. Potter gave him a startled look, but scooted down to rest his head on the pillow. He didn't add a warming charm, much as he wished to, lest it interfere with Madame Pomfrey's magic. 

He used fussing with blankets to cover checking out the pile of nonsense masquerading as clothing on the chair next to the bed. It showed distinct signs of normal and magical wear. Synthetics and magic interacted poorly, and Potter's clothing gave a prime example.

"And stay put this time, snidget." Borley gave the blankets one last tug and stood back.

Potter ignored him, though it may have been shock at being tucked in.

"Thank you, Mr. Borley. If you wouldn't mind waiting?" 

He took the hint and moved to lean against the wall near the doors. Pomfrey reset the screens around Potter's bed, but Borley caught sight of a Potter rapidly succumbing to sleep before she blocked his view. It only took a few minutes for her to join him. She quickly cast a privacy spell.

"Where did you find him?" she sighed.

"Halfway back to Gryffindor Tower, aggrieved he wasn't allowed to see his friends. I'll make a loop around before I go back to my common room to see if there's a Weasley straying." 

"It's not like him." Her expression clouded for a moment. "He's really very sweet, and it's just not like him to wander off like that. Not when I was clear."

"He said something, Madame...that he's never  _ stayed _ injured or sick for more than a day before. It's not the sort of thing most children say." Borley folded his hands in his sleeves so he wouldn't fidget. 

"And you would know what children would say, wouldn't you?" Madame Pomfrey smiled at him. "It could just be over-reactive magic, but I'll make a note. Anything else that you noticed?"

"He's, um, very small. Have you...it's not...Aunt Elspeth mentioned it once, and I'm not trying to be presumptuous, Madame Pomfrey, but…" he trailed off.

"Out with it, Mr. Borley. I won't take offence, especially if it was advice from Mrs. Blydh." 

For once, Borley thanked Circe and Morgana that he came from a ridiculously giant family. He'd have to write and thank Aunt Els for her advice.

"She mentioned Complex Magical Trauma, that it'll arrest a magic user's growth sometimes, after a traumatic experience, that she saw it happen once. And he's smaller than some of my younger siblings. The pre-Hogwarts age ones. It's not normal, Madame, and I didn't think until I picked him up...he's so short it felt natural." He felt the blush staining his cheeks. He wasn't one to just go carrying any child about.

"I'll run some scans in the morning before I release him. Now, is your headache gone?" She patted his hand.

"Yes, Madame. And, Madame Pomfrey?" he fidgeted a bit with his cuffs. 

"Yes, Mr. Borley?"

"Thank you. I'll check in with Weasley, the prefect one, as well, if you'd like me to? See if he's noticed anything?"

"You can ask, Mr. Borley. I'll pass everything to Professor Snape, if I find anything to worry about. You know he's very good about these things, if there's something to worry about." She patted his hand. 

"He is," Borley agreed. "I'll go and check for rogue Weasley minors."

"And come back if your headache returns. Although, I've heard sleep is the best potion." She gave him a pointed look. "And consider what I mentioned earlier, Mr. Borley. I'd hate to lose an apprentice to politics."

"Yes, Madame Pomfrey. I'll make sure I get enough sleep." Borley escaped before she decided to keep him as well. He found he had a great number of things to consider, not least of which was the Potter child.


	10. Chapter 10

_ Sunday Morning _

_ Spinner's End _

Severus rolled over and stretched, luxuriating in the quiet of the morning, and let himself drift. He couldn't remember the last time he slept so well and deeply. After a gentle kiss to the forehead from Riddle-Sinclair, he'd fallen into the kind of sleep he barely remembered from his childhood. The kind he longed for every time he opened his classroom door to the Potter-Malfoy cohort. He debated drifting off again; decades of poor or no sleep dragging at him, luring him back under, but he smelled bacon and his stomach growled.

He debated just pulling on a dressing gown over his nightshift, but he wasn't sure he had the courage to appear in that state of undress. Not even a Bonding and the admittedly lovely band clasped about his wrist overcame years of indoctrination. Even considering anything other than fully dressed for the day made his stomach twist unpleasantly. With a groan, he rolled out of bed and padded barefoot to his clothes press. The soft linen of his nightshift twisted about his ankles; he'd never liked anything shorter than that after his fifth year. 

Severus tapped his toes against the floor as he rifled through his clothing, considering what they might do. Trousers would be more practical, especially if he wanted and was able to see the gardens, but he was loathe to put on Potions Master/Professor before he had to. And he'd grown used to the comfort of long skirts, even though it had only been two days. And he knew cleaning charms if the gardens proved muddy or exceedingly wet.

Before he could change his mind, he pulled out a midnight blue kirtle and robe, a silver gray kirtle, fresh underclothes, and a creamy silk and wool blend underkirtle. He wanted layers after feeling so emotionally stripped bare the previous evening. He squirmed into the long-sleeved knitted combinations, pulling the sleeves and legs into place and checking that the buttons securing the drop seat were fastened. He pulled heavy stockings on over the combinations, gartering them just below his knee. 

The sleeveless underkirtle went on next, and he closed the high collar with just a touch of his magic. The cloth hugging his throat and just brushing the hinge of his jaw helped settle him a bit. Shame bubbled up when he considered his conduct the prior evening, clinging onto Riddle-Sinclair and blubbing like an infant, honestly. The silver gray kirtle, wool and heavier than the gauzy one he'd worn yesterday, steadied his nerves further. He closed the high collar with blackwork buttons embossed with tiny cauldrons and the sleeves with a touch of magic. He tugged the mitten sleeves down to his knuckles before he picked up the midnight blue wool kirtle. 

It looked more black than blue in most lights, but he loved the full skirt and the delicate silver embroidery around the collar. The collar fastened at the back with a small button and loop that held it tight against the base of his throat. He tugged the short sleeves down a bit, straightening the embroidered cuff. 

Severus was about to leave his room when something stopped him. He padded back to his dressing table and sat, combing his fingers through his hair. They promptly tangled in the thick length of it and he sighed. This was why he generally doused the stuff in Sleakeazy's. That and protecting it from the sometimes corrosive fumes his students produced instead of a potion. Washed and undressed, it mostly did as it pleased, and it pleased to be thick, abundant, and damned slippery. And deadly to unsuspecting fingers. He untangled himself and picked up his brush from the table top. 

He hadn't  _ done _ his hair in over a decade, too grief-sick and then too busy with no one to really care how he looked (aside from Narcissa, whose letters occasionally pushed him to at least wash the protective potions out of it), but it came back quickly. Muscle memory had him parting and sectioning as if he'd never given it up as useless vanity. He parted his front hair at the center, then divided each side into three sections. Narcissa always frowned at this point, a bit jealous of the sheer amount of hair he possessed, even if it never behaved as well as her own. 

Each of the three sections he braided, only going for three-stranded braids as he wasn't positive he could manage anything more without practice. Severus wound the six braids into a complex knot. As he slipped the last pin in the knot, he froze, fingers ghosting against the braids. He'd arranged his hair into the Bound Sub's Knot. 

Narcissa taught him after he left Hogwarts, when he still held a few silly hopes deep in his heart. If it was his Bonding day, he'd braid ribbons in his and Riddle-Sinclair's House colors into the hair to symbolize the joining of their Houses. But he was allowed, now, to wear the complicated style, not just to practice and take it down. Severus forced himself to move, lifting the brush again to run it through his back hair. 

It was longer than he'd thought. The heavy weight of it brushed just below his shoulder blades. He could have sworn he cut it before the start of term, but the proof was in the length. Toilette completed, he stood before he ran out of courage. The layers only helped so much.

He padded downstairs, heading for the kitchen, and nearly walked straight into Riddle-Sinclair in the hall. Riddle-Sinclair steadied him, large hands gentle on his shoulders, and Severus swallowed hard. 

"Good morning," he managed. 

"Good morning, pet. I hope you slept well." Riddle-Sinclair turned them toward the kitchen, sliding behind him in the narrow hall. "Oh, Severus."

The soft, fond tone had Severus tripping sideways in the doorway. He fetched up hard against the counter nearest the door, banging his hip on the edge of it. He turned, wincing and gripping the counter behind him as Riddle-Sinclair followed him in. His fingers itched for his wand, just to feel protected, but he suppressed the urge to draw it. He  _ would not _ turn his wand on his Top, no matter what instinct shrieked at him with a larger man approaching him in this house. He thought he'd exorcised those particular demons.

" _ Please, _ don't touch me." His words stayed Riddle-Sinclair's hand, reaching for him. No matter how gentle, he wasn't sure he could stand it, and he couldn't bear falling apart again.

Riddle-Sinclair stepped back to the range, leaving both the door to the hall and the door to the back garden clear. Severus wasn't quite certain what his nerves were doing. He  _ knew _ Riddle-Sinclair wouldn't hurt him, but the way he'd laid himself bare the prior evening kept poking at him, bringing back all sorts of ancient and buried feelings. He breathed slowly, deeply, bringing his pulse back down and shoring up his ravaged shields. 

"I'm perhaps not as recovered as I had thought, from last evening. I apologize for my lapse." He swallowed his pride.

"Oh, pet." Riddle-Sinclair turned from the stove to regard him with soft eyes. "Can I touch you now?"

Severus considered the question and nodded. Riddle-Sinclair crossed to him in two strides and enveloped him in a hug. Severus let himself be tucked close, let himself be the protected, just for a few moments. 

"You have nothing to apologize for, pet, and I'm proud of you for telling me not to touch you. It's a hard thing to admit to." Riddle-Sinclair brushed a careful hand down the length of his hair. "And your hair, Severus...well, I'm a poor Top to give you a Gringotts Binding. You give me a great gift, my lad, when you show me your trust."

Severus trembled at the soft, soothing words. He didn't feel like much of a gift, unless you counted hysterical Subs falling apart in the kitchen as a blessing. At least there were no tears to start the day. He rested his forehead against Riddle-Sinclair's chest and enjoyed the petting for a moment. But there were things they needed to do, so with a little grumble he pushed back.

"I would ask a favor, sir, for later." How could he sound so unsure? Narcissa had drilled him during his seventeenth summer until his voice never so much as quavered, no matter the provocation. Now one handsome Top made him go all to pieces. 

"And what might that be, pet?" 

"Would you mind if I invited Minerva to tea? There are matters I'd like to discuss with her away from Hogwarts." Severus kept his eyes down, still feeling too vulnerable for direct eye contact. 

"Severus, my lad, this is your home. If we settle at Sinclair House, that will also be your home. You never need to ask me if you may invite someone into your home, unless that someone is Lucius Malfoy. As it happens, I have no objection to Minerva McGonagall coming for tea. We're set to visit the property as well, once we've breakfasted." 

Riddle-Sinclair pressed a soft kiss to his forehead and Severus fought the urge to blush. 

"Now." Riddle-Sinclair began briskly, turning Severus and sending him toward the table. "Sit down and I'll bring your breakfast over. You need to eat."

He'd have to do something about Riddle-Sinclair's obsession with his caloric intake, Severus mused as he seated himself. Probably. At some point. For the moment he could, perhaps, allow himself to enjoy the coddling. 

* * *

Even side-along apparition couldn't diminish the beauty of Sinclair House. Two floors of pale gray stone rose from beautifully landscaped gardens, but not the angular landscaping of Malfoy Manor. These gardens felt more natural, less constrained. 

Thankfully, they made it through all four sets of wards. Severus tried in vain to smooth down his hair--it crackled almost as dangerously as Granger's after passing through that much concentrated magic. Four sets of wards, for Merlin's sake.

"You could have warned me," he griped.

"I had absolutely no idea your hair would do...that." Riddle-Sinclair bit his lip, amusement in his eyes, and Severus squashed an urge to flounce off. "I've only ever seen it doused in potions."

"Be that as it may,  _ some _ of us--" the pop of a house elf interrupted Severus before he could get going. 

"Good morning, sirs. I am Otto, the elf of this house. Mister Martin has asked you meet him in the Hall." He was a dignified sort, dressed in a tiny version of a footman's uniform. "Do not dawdle, please. He is most impatient."

Severus couldn't help but think of a very small Jeeves. 

"Of course, Otto. I am Darius Riddle-Sinclair, and this is my Bonded, Severus Snape. With your blessing, and approval from Mister and Miss Sinclair, we would ask to make this our home." Riddle-Sinclair bowed to the elf, and Severus found himself intrigued.

"We shall see." Otto raised an eyebrow and turned. "Follow me."

They crossed the entry corridor, making their way to a side hall. Otto opened the door onto the Hall, open to two floors, with soaring ceilings, a giant fireplace, and a beautiful oriole window. Severus loved it immediately, from the wide-planked, honey-colored floors to the stone walls, the same pale gray as the outer walls. 

Otto led them across the room, dodging dust-sheeted furniture, to the wall across from the fireplace. A six-foot-plus frame leaned against the wall, a man who looked a bit like the current incarnation of Riddle-Sinclair lounging against a fireplace mantle. 

"Hello!" He greeted them cheerfully. "You must be Tommy and...who's your lad, Tom? It is Tom, isn't it? We gave you Darius for our father, but Ro said you were more used to Tom."

"Hello, sir." Riddle-Sinclair smiled warmly. "Thank you for the name and the cover. You and Auntie Ro were very special to me, elsewhen."

"I'm only happy my sister sees sideways, my boy. Now, I know a good bit about what you've been up to these past years, who did you bring with you?" He stood straight, near to beaming at them.

Suddenly, Severus understood how they turned a future Dark Lord into a warm and kind man. You simply couldn't withstand the force of Martin Sinclair's goodwill. 

"My Bonded, sir, Severus Snape." Riddle-Sinclair nudged him forward. 

Severus tried not to fidget under the elder Sinclair's scrutiny. Painting he might be, but Severus still felt the subtle pull of a Top's energy from him.

"You're the Hogwarts Potions Master, are you not?"

"Yes, sir, for the last twelve years."

"Who were your people?"

"I beg pardon?" Best to plead ignorance than answer an awkward question.

"Your parents, Professor Snape. Who were they? And step closer, lad. I won't bite, I promise."

Severus stepped closer. "My father was Tobias Snape. My mother was Eileen Prince."

"Show me your hands, please?" Martin asked. "And an ear?"

Severus complied, he was a bit vain about his hands. Mother always said they were the Prince hands. The ear was a bit odd, but he showed Sinclair anyway.

"And I'm going to be forward, but might I see an ankle?" 

"Uncle Martin!" Riddle-Sinclair scolded while Severus flushed brilliantly. "You may not, sir."

"Without a geneaology potion handy, I'm going out on a limb, but your mother wasn't a Prince, Professor Snape. Not of the English branch, anyway." 

"What do you mean?" Severus shivered.

"I mean that Eiluned Tywysog left home at eleven for Hogwarts and never returned. The Welsh families are the progenitors of the English ones, in many cases, and...well, there was quite the scandal. No one knew what happened to her, but...she was supposed to be married young. She may have looked at her options and claimed Sanctuary from the Princes. That would have been enough to obscure both of you from the Tywysog magics." Martin seemed to deflate. "I'm sorry for dragging it up, lad, but people have been looking for you for decades. You have uncles and cousins."

"I have family." Severus repeated faintly. "I'm not...I don't...I'm sorry."

He managed the last just before his knees buckled. The world fuzzed on him, his vision clouding, and he vaguely felt Riddle-Sinclair catch him and lower him gently to the floor. He breathed, chest heaving, against the shock. Riddle-Sinclair arranged them, lifting him easily to sit in his lap, and Severus didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed by it. He slumped bonelessly against his chest, exhausted and shaking.

"Thanks ever so, Uncle Martin. Could you not have waited?" Riddle-Sinclair growled, brushing a gentle hand down Severus' hair. It was nice, Severus thought, having someone growl at people for you.

"I didn't know your lad would take it like this, Tommy." Martin looked as if he wanted to step out of the frame to join them. 

"Too many shocks." Severus murmured. "Had a difficult weekend. Not your fault."

Riddle-Sinclair shushed him, rocking them slightly. "Just rest, pet. You're quite safe here. Take a few minutes for yourself, darling lad."

For once, Severus did as he was told, closing his eyes and letting his mind drift. The Welsh connection explained his first language. And his mother's obsessive need to avoid the Wizarding World. She told him that the Princes disowned her for running off and marrying his father when he asked about her family. He added the geneaology potion to his list...or they could visit Gringotts one evening. If he could be unobscured or de-Sanctuaried or whatever it was likely the goblins who could do it. If he explained it to Minerva he was sure she'd cover Slytherin for a night. 

He came back to himself to the quiet murmur of Riddle-Sinclair and the elder Sinclair chatting. As he opened his eyes, he caught sight of a tea service sitting on the floor next to them. 

"Feeling a bit more steady, lad?" Martin asked, face creasing in concern.

"Thank you, yes." Severus tried to squirm out of Riddle-Sinclair's lap and went nowhere. 

The infuriating man just handed him a delicate china teacup and saucer and patted his knee. Severus sipped the steaming tea, pleasantly surprised at the soft citrus notes in the astringent brew. Not an Earl or Lady Grey, but something else light and refreshing. He glanced at the cup, then did a double-take. His was painted with two dueling wizards, disaster in the background. 

"Oh, the cups. Mother painted them when Ro and I were tiny. Mother was a demon for china painting and had a rather singular sense of humor. She did a set based on the Kama Sutra that Father nearly banned from the house." Martin explained. "Some of them moved."

For the second time that weekend Severus choked on his tea. He coughed, helped by a thump on the back from Riddle-Sinclair. Now he definitely understood how Riddle-Sinclair turned out the way he did. 

"I think we'd very much like to make this out home, sir, if we're welcome." Riddle-Sinclair brushed a hand down Severus' back as he spoke. It didn't distract Severus from the oddly formal request. 

"I know how your Auntie Ro will reply, but there are two other voices in this decision. Otto! Meridien! Could you please come to the Hall?"

Two pops sounded and Severus and Riddle-Sinclair were nearly eye-level with two house elves. They'd met Otto, but the female elf clearly came from the gardens. Oh, she was tidy, but leaf litter and damp were difficult to keep off the hems of trousers, even her multi-pocketed ones. 

"Yes, Mr. Martin?" Otto spoke first. 

"My nephew and his bonded have a request for us. I know how Miss Sinclair and I wish to answer, but you must also agree. Tommy, I think you know the words?"

"I am Darius Boreal Martin Thomas Riddle-Sinclair, adopted into the Sinclair line, and I would ask permission from the guardians of this home that my bonded, Severus Tobias Snape, and I are allowed to settle here, to call this place our home."

"You will care for the house and grounds, holding them in trust for the next generations?" Otto asked.

"We will."

"You will add your magic to the wards, ensuring the safety of the house and grounds?"

"We will."

"You understand that we are guardians, that we keep the house and grounds but do not cater to you?"

"We do."

Severus felt the ambient magic of the house rise, swirling about them. Otto held out a hand and Riddle-Sinclair closed his own around it. Their bond, elf magic, their magic, and the magic of Sinclair House joined in a rush, like a train driving through the room. Only the seeking magic of the house remained gentle. His heart pounded in his ears, expecting something far harsher. It so reminded him of his investiture as Head of Slytherin House, except there was no pain. Elf and house magic whirled softly about them, and he knew what to do. 

He thought of his first sight of the place, in pictures and in person, and the draw of it. He thought of Spring and tending to the gardens, sinking his hands and his magic deep into the fresh, soft earth. Of working in a bright, airy potions laboratory to stock the house. Of bringing Sinclair House back to life and  _ living _ there. 

He didn't try to cover the ugly parts of himself: his temper, his rage at the world, his bitterness. That his life, until now, had been pain on pain and trauma on trauma. There was no use in it. But now, now he had something he might be able to  _ live _ for instead of simply existing. 

Far away and close by, he heard a soft chiming, and the ambient magic softened, warming around them. Severus opened his eyes and straightened up a bit. Otto gave the two of them a pleased smile.

"You are welcome to make your home here." He bowed, and both he and Meridien popped out.

"Wonderful, my lads, wonderful!" Martin Sinclair clapped his hands and bounced a bit on his toes. "Now, you two have a wander and let the house get to know you a bit. You, um, shouldn't have as much of a problem passing through the wards, Professor Snape." He gestured to his head. 

Severus just glared at him and smoothed his hair down. 

"Ah, well, I can see why your students behave." Although he sounded more indulgent than terrified. "I have to slip out for a bit, but if you need me, just call and I'll be back. Auntie Ro is also out for the moment. You can also call for Otto if you get lost. Welcome home."

And they were alone in the Hall.

They got to their feet slowly, and Severus's mouth quirked into a crooked smile when he thought of having such a profound moment sitting on top of someone on the floor. He caught Riddle-Sinclair's eye and the other man snorted and shook his head, grinning.

"Come, pet, we can have a look around and then get back in time for tea." He drew Severus under his arm and gently led him from the room.


	11. Chapter 11

Silly it may have been, but Severus changed into his Master's robes from Narcissa before meeting with Minerva. The heavy wool of the long coat settled his nerves just as well as his usual teaching garb, with the added benefit of no trousers. Now he was out of them for two days together he was loathe to go back. A risk, perhaps, allowing Minerva in like that, but he trusted her enough to try. He left his hair, as well, though he spent several long minutes staring at the tub of Sleakeazy's on his dressing table. 

Perhaps it was time for a different solution. He rooted about in the dressing table drawers until he found one of the caps he'd worn through his Mastery studies. His master would never allow anyone with potion-soaked hair in the laboratory. The runic embroidery around the edge of the cap protected both the hair and the wearer without interfering with potions. He'd try it, at least. And if anyone showed interest...no, he  _ would _ have his classes making and embroidering their own. He'd made scores of them alongside his fellow apprentice and learning those skills served him well. And perhaps he could get Babbling to assist with an explanation of the runes. 

He set the cap on the table and stood, smoothing his hair one last time before leaving his room. Mother would have called it appalling vanity, but he found he didn't much care. Narcissa taught him decades ago how to care for himself and now he had reason to  _ want _ to. Part of him regretted how he neglected himself for ten years, but he could change going forward. Small things, perhaps, but knowing Riddle-Sinclair supported him gave him the courage to try.

He left his room then, having dawdled long enough. He wouldn't leave Riddle-Sinclair to face Minerva alone. Not on their technically first meeting. They'd put the sitting room to rights as soon as they returned, moving the stacks and bundles of documents and files to the kitchen and up to Severus' office. They still had much to sort, which assuaged some of Severus' guilt at having to leave Riddle-Sinclair to his own devices come the morning.

Not that he felt a Sub should forever dance attendance on a Dom, but their bond was still so new. At least Riddle-Sinclair would have things to do, and a home to open once again. He'd never been homesick before, but he could easily be for Sinclair House. Severus found himself drifting through the sitting room, fluffing pillows and straightening his already tidy secretary, before he wandered into the kitchen. He pulled his watch from the cleverly concealed watch pocket at his waist and checked the time. 

Five minutes until Minerva arrived. He tamped down on nerves, shoring up his shields...he would have to stop relying so heavily on Occlumency, he supposed. Eventually. But until then, he could use the techniques to calm and order his thoughts. 

The kitchen smelled warmly of freshly baked bread, buttery shortbread, and oatcake. Tea they would have, but nothing terribly fancy. Minerva would appreciate the shortbread, in any case. He puttered in the kitchen, poking through his tea tins until he came up with an assertive Assam. Minerva preferred stronger teas, and he felt the need for a pick me up. 

The doorbell chimed through the first floor and Severus bobbled the tea tin. He gave it and a grinning Riddle-Sinclair a filthy look before he swept out of the kitchen. He swept back in a moment later, flushing, and set the tin sharply on the counter before sweeping out again. It was only a few steps to the front door. Severus calmed himself before he opened it to Minerva, Riddle-Sinclair a comforting presence just behind him.

"Welcome, Minerva." They stood aside so she could enter and lay her hat on the small console table. It was a bit of a squish making introductions in the small foyer, but they would have to manage. "It is my honor to introduce Darius Riddle-Sinclair, my newly Bonded Top."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor McGonagall." Riddle-Sinclair bowed slightly.

Severus never thought he would see Minerva McGonagall at a loss for words. She stared at them, as if his introduction didn't quite make sense. 

"Well." She paused and took a deep breath. "This will certainly set the kneazels among the pigeons. I trust this is a fully consensual Bonding?" 

Severus was only happy her glare centered on Riddle-Sinclair.

"Minerva, no one has ever coerced me into doing anything I haven't fully wished to do, no matter the inducement." He spoke sharply, perhaps too sharply, and amended his statement more gently. "Except once. There was a contract between our families come due and I could have refused had I wished. Please, come sit and have some tea?"

"I have some questions for you, young man." Minerva sniffed in the direction of Riddle-Sinclair and preceded Severus into the sitting room. She chose one of the arm chairs.

Riddle-Sinclair brought in the tea tray bearing the more delicate set. He set the shortbread closest to Minerva, with the piping hot scones and oatcakes bracketed by butter and jam pots. He handed her a steaming cup of tea before he sat next to Severus on the settee. 

"I don't recall the Sinclairs, either of them, having a child?" She took a sip of her tea and paused, nodding at the cup after she swallowed. "You make a decent cup of tea, though."

"I was adopted. I'm rather distant kin to them, and they were very kind to my mother and me." Riddle-Sinclair answered easily. 

"You didn't attend Hogwarts, though? I don't remember you as a student, and I would have taught you."

"It was safer for me to be home educated, Professor. My father was not the sort you want within five kilometers of a child." Well, no one would want either reality's Voldemort near children.

"Hmm. I must remind you, Mr. Riddle-Sinclair, that Severus is dear to many of us at Hogwarts. Any untoward behavior toward him will see you facing quite a few wands. Not least of which are the ones belonging to his Slytherins." Minerva spoke firmly as she set a few delicate squares of shortbread on her plate.

" _ He _ can care for  _ himself _ ." Severus resisted the urge to disappear into the settee cushions. 

"I completely understand, Professor McGonagall. I do hope that if I ever seem to be interfering in Severus' work, someone will tell me. I wish to support his career, not hinder it." The charming smile, which turned Severus' knees to water, had less of an impact on Minerva.

"You will be informed, sir." She answered slowly. "Now, Severus, what else did you need to discuss? Living arrangements?"

"I beg your pardon?" 

"Professor's spouses are allowed to live in, Severus, should you both wish. I can have appropriate alterations made to your quarters."

"Not that, Minerva. We have more pressing issues than where my bonded is stored."

"Severus!" Minerva scolded. "That is hardly an appropriate way to speak."

"I'm going to go store myself in the kitchen." Riddle-Sinclair chuckled as he rose from the settee, taking a cup of tea with him. "I have a great deal of work still to do. And Professor?"

"Yes?"

"If you wish, you're more than welcome to stay for dinner."

"As much as I appreciate the invitation, I do have duties this evening. Thank you and congratulations, Mr. Riddle-Sinclair. Remember that Severus is very dear to us at Hogwarts."

Severus felt his cheeks and ears flushing. Sometimes, being the youngest House Head had more downsides than upsides. 

"I'll leave you to your business. Severus, I'll just be in the kitchen if I'm needed."

He felt the loss of Riddle-Sinclair's bolstering presence. He had nothing to be nervous over; it was just Minerva, someone he'd trusted for a decade. They'd worked out their differences years ago and she was a friend. But still, he felt slightly unsettled. 

"What I need to tell you, Minerva, is difficult. You have an abused child in your House."

This wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation, unfortunately. But the child in question made it so much more difficult. 

"Who is it, Severus? And can we get them moved quickly? Is there family?" 

"It's Potter, Minerva."

Minerva set her teacup down with a click and sat back, closing her eyes. She looked suddenly exhausted, haggard at the news. 

"I told him they were the worst sort." Her voice came low and strained. "Well, you'd best tell me the worst of it."

"Miss Granger brought it to my attention. She apparently tried to speak to you a few weeks ago after considering what she knew of his life." He tried not to sound accusatory. Minerva did her best, but she was one woman trying to fill three roles. 

Minerva's mouth twitched into a thin line, but she schooled her features and folded her hands over her knee. 

"Minerva, it is  _ not _ your fault. You did not place him there, nor did you send him back. Did he ask you to remain over the summer?" Because there were enough problems awaiting them without stewing in guilt. 

"No, he's never said anything, Severus. He was small for his age, but it does happen. If I had more  _ time _ with them, though…"

"If ifs and ands were pots and pans, Minerva. You do the best you can. You knew he was given into the care of Petunia?"

"I knew it was Lily's sister and a Muggle household. He seems so...normal. He's made friends and he's generally well-liked. He's polite, as well. Mostly." She twitched a smile at him over the edge of her teacup. 

"Some children manage to come out the other side of a difficult childhood like Potter. Many don't." Severus stared down into his teacup.

"And we're lucky we have you to ferret out the needed information." Minerva patted his knee.

Severus steeled himself to give his report. The next few minutes wouldn't be pleasant.

"It seems as if the worst is criminal neglect and overwork. I spoke to Petunia Dursley and she freely admits to using him like a house elf and not feeding him. He does much of the gardening and cooking in the household, in addition to a good deal of cleaning. His room, until his Hogwarts letter arrived, was the cupboard under the stairs. After that, he was given his cousin's second bedroom. After the incident over the summer, they installed five locks on the outside of the door and a cat flap. There were bars over the window until the Weasley children quite literally broke him out. He wasn't being fed appropriately, again. The uncle left bruises when he tried to drag the boy back into his room." He paused to collect himself. "The cousin is encouraged to be as rough as possible with him. Other adults have seen the bruises and have noticed his build."

"Severus, Poppy gave me a file for you. She wanted you to have it immediately." Minerva broke in before he could keep going and pulled a shrunken file from her pocket. She enlarged it and handed it over. "I read it, but I was unfamiliar with one of the results."

Severus flipped it open, his stomach dropping as he read. Poppy's report was as succinct as ever, detailing the results of the health scans done on Potter. The extremely thorough scans, including one he rarely saw used and only recognized due to personal experience.

"Who brought Healer Blydh into this?" he asked, his voice shaking. 

"Poppy mentioned that it was Prefect Borley who had some concerns. Mr. Potter attempted an Infirmary-break last night. Prefect Borley brought him back." Minerva kept her own voice level.

"I see." Severus locked his hands on the file to keep them from shaking as well. "We will have to ask Mr. Potter what happened when he was eight. The underlying health problems are more concerning when seen in one place."

"What is this one, Severus?" She leaned over and pointed to the result marked  _ CMT scan: Positive. _ "It's the only scan I haven't seen before."

"Poppy went looking for Complex Magical Trauma. It occurs when a young magic user experiences something so profoundly traumatic that they are, for lack of a better explanation, arrested in that moment or state. It is usually when one's magic has reason to believe remaining in that state is safest. When the child feels safe again, they will move out of that state. Mr. Potter's growth arrested, so I would assume his magic believed he would be safer smaller. It is also part and parcel to the malnutrition."

"So when he was about eight…" Minerva swallowed hard. "Have you found any other family who could take him?" 

"I'll speak to the Weasley boys and Mr. Potter first, Minerva. I'll also look for any way we can have him moved. As far as I know, he has no other family, and it could prove difficult to send him to, say, the Weasley family."

"I don't see why. I know Arthur and Molly would take him."

"Except that there are others who are better off who may make such a transfer difficult."

"You don't think…you  _ are _ friends with the Malfoys, Severus."

"I was a convenient project and cover for Lucius. Whilst Narcissa and I have forged a friendship, they remain extremely selfish people. I would not have Potter turned into another Draco Malfoy or male Pansy Parkinson."

"But if the Weasleys have him first…"

"The Malfoys and others have closer ties to him through the Blacks. And the Weasleys, however good a family and however strong their ties to him, are not supported by those who hold power. When he is moved, it will have to be in a way that gives no room for argument." Severus closed the file, stomach turning a bit, and folded his hands over it.

"Which means we have seven months to find him a new home." Minerva's hands shook slightly as she sipped her tea. 

He had never been more thankful that he and Minerva had their differences out his second year teaching. Granted it only came about due to Pomona sparking an argument and locking them in the staff room, but screaming every injustice from his first moments in the Wizarding World back at her lanced some of the festering pain of his school years. Sometimes, casting an authority figure's failings up to them helped. And she'd apologized to him. She'd listened and apologized and that allowed them to move forward as colleagues. 

"We've faced more insurmountable tasks, Minerva. We moved Theo Nott to his uncle. And this gives us more time to make certain Mr. Potter's health improves. I can..." 

"Yes, Severus?"

"I'm having the seventh years brew geneaology potions in two weeks. I can...hmm…"

"What are you...Severus I can hear the gears turning."

"Would you give permission for me to upend the curriculum for the first and second years?"

"Upend it how, precisely?"

"If I switch the curriculum to something skills-based for the first two years...it's honestly not required for using the seventh year students' brews, but it is something I've been considering. If I spend two years teaching the skills--safety and cleaning and knife skills and tool care--I think more students will find success. I noticed how much trouble some children have, especially as many Muggle parents don't allow their children to help with meal preparation." He'd been asking for years and had been refused, but if he got Minerva onside, she'd slip it in.

"Are these the changes you've been asking for every July for the past five years?" Minerva asked tartly.

"Perhaps?" 

"Well, I feel that two years of foundational learning before beginning more challenging brews is a wonderful idea. You will allow some brewing during this time?"

"Yes. We will attempt potions like boil cures and will investigate the interaction of ingredients based on preparation."

"Do you have a syllabus?"

"I have a book." He rose, setting Potter's file on the table, and went to the secretary. He unlocked it and removed a thick folio. "I had it typeset, so there will be no complaints about my hand."

Crossing the room, he handed it to Minerva. She flipped through, taking in the delicate, moving line drawings that accompanied the text. 

"Did you do the illustration as well?"

"I created the runic array that translated what my hands were doing into an illustration. It took a bit of doing." Severus fidgeted as she paged through.

"You ought to be very proud, Severus. This is fine work. Do you have a copy? If I drop by the printer on my way back, I can arrange for copies to be available for first and second years by Wednesday." Minerva smiled, a thin thing, but her pride and approval shone through.

"I...yes. I do. You're approving it, just like that?" He couldn't help the question.

"As Hogwarts Deputy Head, I can make this decision. This will bring Hogwarts in line with other magical institutions and will serve our students well. Sometimes…" she stopped and sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if we're wasting that brain of yours, keeping you locked away teaching when you revolutionize scientific illustration in your spare time."

"I'm hardly a damsel in a tower, Minerva. I didn't have the connections it would take to start my own laboratory and Albus took a great chance on me. I have found some peace in teaching."

"Had found, more likely, with the way Mr. Potter gets about." 

"You're quite right." Oddly, he found the bitterness usually stirred by thinking of the Potter child gone. "Minerva, we will find a new home for him. It's why I want his family tree, the curriculum change is an unexpected bonus."

"Well, if you don't ask you won't be given permission. Why don't you  _ and _ Poppy speak to him? I can bring him to the Hospital Wing tomorrow evening, and send the Weasley boys down to you directly after classes."

"Would it give you more time if I sent Borley for him? According to Poppy he responded well to him, despite the color of his tie."

"As much as I would like to say yes, I think I should be there. I have a responsibility to him. I can only shudder to think of what Lily would say about this."

"Most likely 'Why did you give him to Pisstunia, Albus?'" He'd timed it for when she took a sip of her tea. Only by years of experience did she not choke.

"Did you just call her...Severus, you're supposed to be an adult." Minerva scolded after she swallowed, but amusement glimmered in her eyes. 

"Haven't you heard that I'm a Brat?" He teased gently. She didn't know, at least before this, as he'd kept such things absolutely private. But it felt like the right time to trust.

"Oh, Severus." Her face softened, eyes losing their mirth when she looked at him. "And you've managed all this time, alone, with so many responsibilities."

"You don't miss what you've never had, Minerva. It's not common knowledge, but...it's time to trust in one's friends." He stared at his hands instead of facing her concern.

"I'm going to do something, as a friend, that you are likely going to hate. Mr. Riddle-Sinclair, could you join us?" She raised her voice just enough to carry.

Riddle-Sinclair joined them in just a moment, holding a sheaf of parchment. 

"Yes, Professor?"

"As Severus has trusted me enough to disclose his Designation to me, I'm going to stick my oar in. You  _ will _ be joining Severus in his quarters as his Bonded. Your bond is too new for you to be separated for long periods." Minerva spoke firmly and Severus recognized the tone.

"Of course, Professor." Riddle-Sinclair acquiesced. Severus wondered if he'd been plotting for this. "I agree with you. It is a bit too soon to be away."

He leaned in the doorway, just waiting and watching. For some reason, that rubbed him all the wrong way.

"Am I to have no say in  _ my own life? _ " His voice came out quietly venomous, his hands balling into fists in his lap.

"Severus, if we had the cover and weren't in the middle of another Potter-based crisis, I'd give you a honeymoon starting now. I'm terribly sorry I can't." She reached over and covered one of his hands with her own. "As soon as I can manage it, you're going to have your month, and not during summer holidays. For the moment, this is the best I can do for you."

And now he felt like a heel for his jolt of bad temper. 

"Thank you, Minerva. I am sorry. I'm not quite myself at the…"

"Absolute rot, Severus. You have nothing to apologize over. You've had several shocks and drastic changes to your life in the last few days, including discovering Potter's home situation. If you were absolutely your normal self I'd be worried." 

Her crisp, sensible speech cut through his recrimination. Would he ever have governance over his sharp tongue? Or over his life? He was Bonded, and he'd have to make the best of it, which gave his guardianship into Riddle-Sinclair's hands. Oh, he wasn't  _ property _ , not legally, but some of this was why he'd kept his Designation so secret. He never wanted people talking over him and making decisions for him. He wanted people to respect him and his opinions, not treat him like an irresponsible child. 

"You don't deserve my ill temper, in any case, Minerva. Thank you for your concern."

"Now, I'm going to let you enjoy your afternoon." She set down her cup and rose. "Severus, thank you for bringing Harry's home life to me. We will get all of this mess cleared away. I'll arrange meetings with Poppy and the Weasley boys. And I'll have an extra room added to your quarters."

Severus rose, Riddle-Sinclair following, to see Minerva out. 

"Thank you, Minerva. And please, take a tin of the shortbread?" He offered while Riddle-Sinclair held out the tin.

"Thank you, Severus. I'll expect the both of you for breakfast. We'll have an announcement for the general student body."

"I'm not entirely certain I should look forward to that." Severus managed a smile. 

"Don't worry yourself, Severus. It will all come out just fine." And with that, they were alone again. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As warning, Severus gets himself in some hot water in this chapter. If you're not a fan of disciplinary spanking, you may want to skip this one. It's in the tags, so I may not always warn in the summary, for future reference.

Severus' only problem was that he couldn't help worrying. Riddle-Sinclair went on as he apparently always did, calm and orderly, while Severus fidgeted his way through the afternoon. His life was about to turn upside down, again. Everyone would know. The Headmaster would know. What would he say? Especially as the man he brought with him was a Riddle. 

Would he lose his position? His contract was with Hogwarts, and technically the board had to approve firings and hirings, but he had few friends among them. He'd...he couldn't lose his Slytherins, not when he was finally making progress. Or his position, not when he finally had the chance to make some changes. He ought to have spoken to Minerva years ago. But would everyone howl about a Sub as Head of a House? Because one look at them together and it was obvious. And he didn't  _ want _ to go back to his other clothing, not when he finally felt fully himself. Not when he'd finally  _ accepted _ this part of himself. 

He didn't want to hide anymore.

Severus popped up off the settee to pace behind it. Riddle-Sinclair finally looked up from his file and frowned slightly. 

"Are you fretting, pet?" The gentle question set Severus' teeth on edge. 

"One can  _ walk _ and  _ think _ without  _ fretting _ ,  _ sir. _ " It came out sneery and sarcastic, the 'sir' barely scraping respectful. He'd have sent any Slytherin speaking to him like that straight to bed. 

"Well then, it's good you're not working yourself up." 

Severus turned on his heel, outraged by the mild comment, to glare at the other man. He'd no idea where all these feelings were coming from, but he wanted to bite something. 

"Perhaps you should take that temper up to the bath. A good soak might help."

"No." Severus bit out the word, going back to pacing.

"It wasn't a suggestion, lad."  

This time his tone held something, something Severus could batter against and never break. Relief and rage flooded through him in equal parts and he stopped his pacing to grab the back of the nearest chair, breathing hard, eyes closed. 

"And I said no." He ground out the words, half terrified that he'd launch himself at Riddle-Sinclair if he didn't. 

"I see." Two words held volumes.

Severus started violently. He hadn't even heard the blasted man move. He opened his eyes enough to glare viciously. 

"I think this might help." A vial appeared before Severus' eyes.

"I don't need a  _ sodding _ calming draught!" Before he could process the urge, he twitched the vial out of Riddle-Sinclair's fingers and hurled it at the fireplace. 

The glass shattered against the tiles, leaving a damp splotch behind. Severus stared, breathing hard, absolute horror at his lack of control turning his blood to ice. His hands shook, and he had no idea what expression crossed his face when he realized how close Riddle-Sinclair stood. 

"It was a headache reliever, but it seems you're in desperate need of something else, my lad." Riddle-Sinclair's voice held a disapproving note that had Severus' stomach clenching. "A hot bottom looks to be needed."

"I...I don't...I...I'm sorry!" He trembled, the chair the only thing keeping his knees from buckling.

"I'm sure you are lad. Brats usually are after a tantrum. You're going to stand right where I put you while I clean up the glass, and then we're going to have a thorough chat about tantrums and throwing things." 

With that, Severus found Riddle-Sinclair detaching his hands from the back of the chair and leading him over to the wall. The only blank stretch of wall in the sitting room. 

"Don't move, pet. Think about what happened here." 

How was he meant to think when his brain refused to produce anything other than the static of shock.  _ He didn't throw things. _ He'd never done  _ anything _ so blatantly bratty in his adulthood. He just...he didn't. His hands balled at his sides as his breath came harsh and panting. Just as he felt himself about to go completely to pieces, Riddle-Sinclair cleared his throat. 

"Come along, lad." 

Severus went where he was led, half expecting a backhand or a curse. But Riddle-Sinclair only settled down on the settee and pulled his pathetically trembling form into his lap. 

"Now, can you tell me what that naughtiness was in aid of, lad?" 

Severus opened his mouth to answer the gentle question but no words came. Riddle-Sinclair held him close, strong arms wrapped around him. Severus slumped against his chest, wrung out from such rapid emotional shifts. He seemed content to wait until Severus could speak.

"I don't even know, sir. I was...I was relieved and then so wretchedly angry. I am sorry." He managed some kind of explanation, finally. 

"And perhaps, deep down, you needed to push a bit, to find out what would happen whilst we had the privacy?"

Severus shrugged. He'd have told off any Slytherin for it, but he'd rather be a bit rude than open his mouth and be stupendously rude. He wasn't some firstie wondering if their Head of House really meant those rules. 

"I think you can take it as a rule that we do not throw things in a temper. I'm  _ not _ best pleased with that tantrum, my lad. I know we haven't had the time yet, but I'm telling you now that you're to open your mouth and talk to me when you start getting so upset. The only reason you're not over my knee right now is that we haven't had time to discuss consequences." 

Severus' stomach clenched on buzzing nerves. He wanted and didn't want consequences for his actions in near equal amounts. He wanted the strength and solidity of Riddle-Sinclair backing him up, that surety and calm helping make sense of the chaos of his world. But now, coming bang up against the solid boundary of what his Top would tolerate (and he  _ had _ pushed since their Bonding... _ just _ enough that he hadn't gone over the line) he wasn't sure what he could bear. But it seemed he didn't need to try to make sense of what he wanted just yet.

"If you want my opinion, I think going over my knee for a smacking would help settle you. It's clear corner time just wound you up further, pet, and I think what I'm seeing is an over-stressed, over-stretched Brat who's been left to his own devices for much too long."

"I don't...I  _ can't… _ " Severus damned himself a coward as he trembled in Riddle-Sinclair's arms. Faced with the decision, such a  _ damnable _ thing, his courage failed. He didn't  _ want _ to decide. For once in his miserable life, he wanted to give decisions over to someone else. 

"Oh, lad." Riddle-Sinclair held him close for a moment before setting him on his feet and divesting him of his long coat. "Right, Severus, has any Top ever taken you to task properly?"

"No sir." His voice came as a bare whisper.

"I'm going to put you over my knee now, pet." He suited action to words and Severus found himself staring at his sitting room carpet. Tipped forward as he was, his feet didn't reach the floor. "Your skirts go up and your drop seat comes down."

Severus felt the cool air of the room ghost over his rear and fought not to blush. He hadn't been so exposed since his fifth year, only now there was no crowd of jeering onlookers, just one man about to discipline him. Riddle-Sinclair patted his backside and Severus squeaked, starting.

"Shh, pet, shh. You may squirm and kick and shout as much as you need to. I'll never tell you that you mayn't. Now, why am I smacking your backside, Severus?"

He couldn't be serious. How was one meant to think bare and bent over a lap?

"Severus? I'd like an answer to my question, please. It's important that you show me you understand why I'm giving you a smacking."

"I…" Severus' voice squeaked out of existence. "I threw a potions vial at the wall in a fit of temper." Saying it out like that had his face flaming. "And...and I've been pushing you since...since we bonded."

"Thank you, Severus. You will  _ not _ throw things during a tantrum, my lad. I won't countenance such behavior. We're going to handle that now, as well as the pushing you've been doing this weekend."

The first smack fell, hard and stinging, settling into a firm rhythm. Severus yelped, then shoved a hand in his mouth to stop any further noise escaping. Permission he may have had, but he would rather be set afire again than do something so infantile as yelp over a smacked backside. He'd taken many a Crucio without screaming his head off and after a certain point he hadn't given his father the satisfaction of either screaming or tears. 

But this was neither a torture curse nor a beating. Severus bit down on his hand as the heat grew behind. He breathed deeply, ignoring the slight hitch every few breaths. He could simply shore up his Occlumency shields, disappear into his own mental fortress. But even the thought had his stomach turning with guilt. He shifted slightly, his hips squirming away from the steady rain of swats, but Riddle-Sinclair didn't miss or slow his hand. 

Severus hooked his ankles together, his legs straightening out behind him in a bid not to squirm or wriggle or kick. His breath came in a whining gasp at each smack, ratcheting up the sting. As the pressure rose in his chest and his eyes pricked with unshed tears, he broke, throwing a hand back to cover his incandescent backside.

"Dare, please! No more!" He choked out the humiliating plea, forgetting his vow to keep distance between them entirely. 

"Move your hand, please, Severus." Came his only response. 

Severus wilted over his lap, shaking his head. "I can't. Please!" 

He didn't even know what he begged for until Dare moved his hand and held it snug at the small of his back. Severus found himself lifted forward a bit as Dare raised his knee. The first swat to the crease where bottom met thigh loosened his tongue.

"Ow! Dare, ow!" He squirmed against the sting, somehow worse on unsmacked skin.

"That's better, pet. We'll be discussing you biting yourself, as well. You are not to injure yourself, my lad." He sounded as if he was discussing the weather, the swine.

"No more!" Severus drummed his toes against the floor, unable to form a more coherent argument.

"That's not up to you, pet. Well, in a way it is, as you'll show me when you're done. But my Brat doesn't get to decide when he's done, especially not by bellowing at me." He never even faltered as he spoke, laying down smack after smack.

Severus wriggled over Dare's lap, fighting tears, desperate not to cry. He hadn't since his bender after Lily's murder and he had no wish to give in to such weakness again. Disgusting, Dumbledore called him, and he wouldn't be that again. But it  _ hurt. _ He'd never been put over a knee, parental or Top, for a smacking before. He could disassociate from a belting, just step away from the pain, but this...every smack anchored him to here and now. The sting and burn and heat wouldn't let him ease away from it.

"You're doing so well, pet. It's time to stop fighting, love. It's time to let go. You've done so well on your own and you've come so far, but it's time for help. I'm so tremendously proud of you, sweeting. Let go for me now." 

The soft words, combined with searing smacks right where he sat, proved his undoing. He choked on the first sob, coughing against it, but couldn't stop. Tears spilled over his cheeks, wetting the cushions below him. He felt as if his chest were cracking open.

His control abandoned him and he wailed, thrashing about as much as he was able. Each smack drove his unmaking as he howled out decades of pain and grief. He knew only the blaze behind him and the unending, turbulent ocean of his emotions. 

Slowly, he became aware of not more smacking but a gentle hand rubbing up and down his spine. He shuddered, still weeping into the cushions, trying to calm himself. Wrung out, he remained where he was, uncaring of his state of undress. More tears slipped down his cheeks, as if making up for all the years of suppression. 

Dare righted him, and Severus wobbled a moment before his knees buckled and he sank down. His Top pulled him into his lap, arranging him to straddle his lap. Severus slumped against him, posture be damned, and burrowed close. Dare wrapped strong arms about him, cupping the back of his head, holding him like something precious. Another sob caught in his throat and he turned his wet face to hide against Dare's shoulder. 

He couldn't stop the quiet weeping now that he'd given into it. 

"Oh, my darling lad, there you go, take your time. You take as much time as you need. We're not in any rush." Dare soothed, rubbing a strong hand over his shoulders and back. "There's no shame in tears, pet, and you have more reason than most for them."

It took a damnably long time for him to cease weeping like a child. And over a smacked bum. Severus straightened up, arranging his face into his usual implacable mask, and opened his mouth.

Dare interrupted him with a sharp swat that stung even through the layers of his clothing, and he was suddenly aware that his underclothes remained unfastened. At least he'd worn a silk underkirtle as his first layer.

"None of that mask, pet. You show me what you're feeling or you can go right back over my knee." The stern words had Severus' eyes tearing yet again.

"Yes sir," he snuffled, hiding against his shoulder again.

"Good lad. Now, are we going to have a repeat of that naughtiness? Are you going to be throwing things like that again?"

"No sir." Even though 'naughtiness' made him want to cringe and hide.

"Very good. And tantrums?"

"No more, sir." Severus rasped. Now that he knew the consequences, he would be that much more careful.

"What will you do if you start to feel so out of sorts again?" Dare rubbed his back comfortingly through the questioning.

"Speak to you about it before I lose control." Because like hell would he go through that again. He felt ripped open, vulnerable and weak, and also safer than he'd ever felt before.

"And should you misstep, pet, it won't be the end of the world. We'll handle whatever we need to, my lad." 

Severus burrowed closer, not caring at all for his dignity. His backside throbbed, his face felt stiff with dried tears, and he was completely wrung out. He let himself drift, warm and comfortable, held safe by his Top. Dare murmured something and far off he heard a tap run for a moment. Severus twitched back at Dare's fingers tilting his chin up, forcing him out of his comfortable spot. 

He whined before he could stifle it, making his displeasure known.

"Hush, bratling." Dare wiped a warm, damp facecloth over his tear-stained cheeks.

"Hardly a child," Severus grouched.

"You'll always be my bratling. Is that better?" He could barely look Dare in the face, his eyes held such warmth of affection.

Severus nodded. "Thank you."

"Rest now, pet. We've nowhere to be. In a bit we'll have some supper, and then an early night for you, I think."

Deep inside, there was a niggle of rebelliousness, but he felt comfortably cared for enough that it was easy to squash. He wouldn't challenge Dare again, not so soon. Not when he was, finally, held safe and secure by a Top he trusted.


End file.
